Mojyo Jojo: An Extended Analysis into the Mind of a Deluded Introvert
by Nate-kun
Summary: A stupid anthology featuring stupid looks into Tomoko Kuroki's stupid life featuring stupid situations that she, stupidly enough, finds herself in because she's dumb. - Lament .10: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Get My Hands Dirty: In which Tomoko must play the role of a domestic maid to a frustrated housewife in order to fondle her only friend in the dark.
1. Lament 01: I'll Stay Up All Night

**So yeah, this is the next project I'm going to be tackling. If you've read my other stuff, then that's just great, if you didn't, feel free give anything I didn't make as a dumbass a shot. Here's the deal though, this'll be a once per week upload thing, it's what I'm shooting for this time, it's not that I don't want to do daily chapters anymore, it's just I think I could do more with this series if I had some extended writing time.**

**Now to start, if you're not watching and/or reading Watamote, then I have to sit here and ponder what's wrong with you, I kid of course, but still, the fact stands. Get on it, kid. It's the best fun you'll ever see or read, and all because it's oh so relatable to the masses of people it panders to.**

**What's this story about, you may find yourself asking? Other than a blatantly obvious attempt to jerk myself off at the thought of writing scenarios where, more often than not, Tomoko gets humiliated at the expense of no one? Because even in the cancerous sea that is fan-smegma, therein lies a lack of remorse for a girl who labels bitches, but at the same time, wants to hang out with said bitches.**

**In that sea, lies this story, that I made, stoned out of my mind at 11:54 PM in need of something to waste my time, well tired of sloshing myself through the sea of diabetes that is, admittedly, the poorer-quality fanfictions that dwell all over this site, authored by people who accept criticism as well as Andrew Dobson.**

**That's not a compliment.**

**Don't worry, my A/N's usually aren't this long, just for first chapter ordeals, and don't worry, I don't break that shit out in the middle of the story either. Next, if you leave a review, and I hope that you're nice enough to do so, I'll always get back to you, guaranteed, mean or not. We all want to be buddies here, eh?**

**Oh yeah, heads up: ****Anything in italics is either thoughts, flashbacks, or vidya dialogue. Let's hope you can tell which is which.**

**Alright. Enough out of me, let's read some fucking fanfiction.**

**Word Count: 1424 words.**

* * *

**Mojyo Jojo**

_An Extended Analysis into the Mind of a Deluded Introvert_

Lament .01 - Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Stay Up All Night

* * *

Click.

Click.

Clatter.

Click.

Clack.

Clatter.

. . .

Click.

These are sounds she hears often, simply because she hears them every night.

Tomoko Kuroki.

Girls her age would much rather get a pleasurable kick out of going to eat out with their friends, going to buy panties with their friends, singing karaoke with their friends, and participating in lustrous exploratory sex orgies...with their friends.

Tomoko, on the other hand, finds pleasure in a more sensual area.

A bland, almost soulless expression hangs on the girl's bag-ridden face as she clicks her mouse every other second, her other hand lazily planted inside her shorts, fiddling around with the clit again, but finds that she isn't having as much of a spark as previous times.

It's almost like it's become a routine.

_"But why, why would you fall in love with your brother? It is a forbidden path!"_

_A) "I don't care, I love you onii-chan!"_

_B) "It's okay. We can just pursue our love undercover, in secrecy, no one will ever know."_

_C) "You're right, maybe we should stop this..."_

Click.

_"W-What? You love...me...your own brother? But...this feeling that I have...is it the right thing to have whenever I'm with you?"_

A few more clicks and choices later, Tomoko finds herself gawking at her bright monitor screen, flashing her an image of a sibling bond turned incestuous bait. All with a single embrace, and a lover's exchange.

Although it's enough to get her to grow a horny smile, she can't help but wonder.

_'Why is he so surprised? I've been showing signs all night...'_

A question directed to no one in particular but herself.

Following the completion of one of the game's many, many routes, Tomoko's eyes just happen to dart over from the visual novel, and to the computer's task bar.

She's a few minutes shy of three-thirty.

_'...I think I'll go to bed soon.'_

Unfortunately, one answer choice just ends up leading to another, and another, and a minigame about gentle penetration while holding hands in the most pure position possible, and then a sudden shift back to answers.

Sex intrigues her, but at the same time, it spooks her.

She's on the fence about many things, a girl so confused she isn't really sure what she wants, other than to be noticed by the very morons she'd rather be anything but in contact with.

_"Oh, oh, ohhhhhh..."_

_"Haaa, haaa, haa... Keep down, they'll hear us in the other room..."_

_"Ohhhhhhh..."_

_"Haaaaah..."_

Although the game refrains from showing any explicit detail of what the two characters are doing to each other, Tomoko easily makes through without it. The thought of dicks alone manages to get her to forget about everything else for a moment, and imagine something sexually thought provoking.

Sexy, but hair raising too.

She excuses the poorly-written dialogue since it's the only thing that'll get her off tonight. With a few more mindless clicks, she completes another route.

Missionary accomplished.

Following that seemingly brief interval, Tomoko tempts herself into looking at the time again, and is genuinely surprised to see that she's managed to occupy herself for another twenty minutes simply by inserting herself into interactive incest porn.

_'Three-fifty already?'_

After forcing herself to get the hell out of her chair, she hops onto her bed, face planted into her pillow, left hand smelling like _carpet_.

She shifts positions, lying on her side to prevent dreaming about bugs again, but minutes pass, yet she still won't fall asleep.

'_Why aren't I falling asleep? I'm tired as hell!_'

Despite more position switches, nothing helps her to fall asleep.

_'How come the one time I actually want to sleep, I can't?!'_

Eventually, she sits up and yawns. Staring out the window into the dark night, she notes that she still has a few hours before she's supposed to get up.

_'The day hasn't even begun yet and it's already shit.__'_

In an attempt to fall asleep faster, Tomoko begins occupying herself with other things around her room, from counting the number of niche games on her shelf, to reading a short story about a girl whose body ends up being covered in holes.

Nothing helps.

She does get itchy, however.

Sitting up again, Tomoko runs a hand through her greasy, unkempt hair, accidentally getting it caught in a few tangles in the process.

"**Agh!**"

With a loud sigh, she thrusts her head back into her pillow, and screams into it.

Still not asleep.

She laments her dilemma into her pillow, not giving two shits about her voice being muffled by it, "I just want to go sleep, is that so much to ask for?"

She could always try sleeping on her stomach again, it was a surefire thing to conk her out, but that's a torture she's just not willing to re-visit again.

Shifting positions to be on her back, her eyes glare at the ceiling with an unappreciative gloom. It really makes no sense, on any other day of the week, she falls asleep fine with no problem.

Tonight is different.

It doesn't take long for her dead eyes to get drawn into her computer monitor again, it's the only source of light in the room, and she could care less if it overheated overnight.

The "route completion" image of the brother and sister sleeping together, holding hands, is still on the screen. A relationship most taboo, but apparently neither fictional character seems to give a fuck about that.

It makes her curious.

_'Is that how siblings are supposed to act? Like they both want to have sex with each other?'_

She has a little brother sure, and she's had lewd thoughts about him on occasion. Yet on that same note, she can't recall Tomoki ever having any perverse thoughts about her. Which confuses her, she doesn't know why anyone wouldn't want to have kinky thoughts about her.

She doesn't realize that she puts herself on too high a regard.

The thought of the taboo reminds her of an earlier conversation between the two, one that might shed some light on their dynamic.

* * *

_Without a fucking care, Tomoko walks into his room with the smuggest face possible, a complete disregard for his privacy at the price of a small query._

_Tomoki is unmoved, most likely because he thinks his sister is a deranged cunt with too many issues to count, "Haven't you heard of knocking?"_

_"You don't knock when you go into my room."_

_"Get out."_

_She gives him a sheepish smile, "I just wanted to ask a questio-."_

_"Fuck off."_

_"Can I have the soda in the fridge?"_

_"No. I'm saving it."_

_"For what?"_

_"For when I get thirsty."_

_"When's that gonna be?"_

_"How the hell should I know?!"_

_"You're the one that wants to save it. You should know when you're gonna need it!"_

___"Can you just get out already?" he asks politely, yet in a strained tone. His last nerve's about to burst from her sheer annoying stupidity alone._

___"Your loss." with a shrug, Tomoko heads for the door, but just as she leaves, she gets a needle and bursts that last boil of a nerve._

___"I already drank it, by the way."_

* * *

Tomoko balls her fists and bites her bottom lip, '_How the hell was I supposed to know he still wanted it!?_'

She then places a hand on her cheek, still feeling the burning sting from when he pinched her face hours ago. He's really good at that.

'_He doesn't really act like he wants to have sex. Or, maybe he does, and his anger is because he thinks I haven't realized it yet! Or maybe, maybe he's mad because he wants to do it hard, but he's annoyed because at the same time he thinks I'm stupid!_'

The more she thinks about this potential scenario, the more she imagines it, and the more she imagines it, the more it threatens to turn from a simple imagination into a long-lasting dream.

Tomoko's eyelids begin to droop as she thinks more and more about it, '_I wonder if he'd be better than Yuu-chan..._'

The room begins to get hotter.

Her greasy sweat becomes more prominent, sliding down her oily skin.

Her breaths become heavier, they start turning into pants.

The girl's misdirected perception of a forbidden taboo ends up being the only saving grace in her stupid journey to falling asleep on an otherwise unproductive Thursday night.

She ends up on her stomach again.


	2. Lament 02: I'll Try Running Away

**Ahh, the shrieking end to an unproductive and ultimately uneventful Summer, a drastic and inevitable reminder that each year, I grow more and more weary of my lack of skill when it comes to trying to have fun. That dull humor aside, let's get to reviews:**

**Shappo: Thanks for that, any particular reason it prods your curiosity?**

**Masato Nakajima: I can imagine it would hit too close to home to just about ****_anyone _****that spends their adolescence on watching and discussing Japanese animation, it's not much of a surprise, more of a reality check.**

**Shadow38383: If you're wondering, the idea for that chapter came from a few key moments, particularly the one she just barges in and asks to see his penis, because lord, we've all been there. Don't worry, it isn't the pivotal plot point of this story though, of which there is none really, but that doesn't mean I won't bring it up again.**

**Please review, that's all I can ask for. I'll give you an answer, I don't care if you fling roses or fling shit, I'll still give you a modest response, at the expense of honesty. **

**You'll probably understand the context of this chapter provided you read the spin-off manga. It's not a necessity however, I'll spill the details for you. Thanks.**

**Word Count: 2351 words.**

* * *

Lament .02 - Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Try Running Away

* * *

A warm day in the dull afternoon, on a droll weekend that's just the same as all the rest she's ever had to endure in her awkward, pathetic, and sometimes sympathetic life.

Cicadas are bitching because that's all they seem to do, latch onto a tree, shriek for whatever reason other than to put on major emphasis and let everyone in a nearby radius know that _yes, _there are fucking cicadas around.

Tomoko sighs as she lies in bed, a bed ridden with her scent lingering all over it. The heat of the sun plastering her sticky hair to her forehead, she'd wash it, sure, but it just happens to be one of those things she consistently puts off and off again time after time without care.

"The weekend's already started and I haven't done anything worth my time yet..."

To be honest, it's entirely her fault.

Sitting up, she rubs her legs while looking outside. As naturally expected, there are a few people in closed group circles out doing their own little things. Things Tomoko thought were stupid and humiliating, if not because she was never included, nor invited to any of them.

It would be simple as pie to approach those kids, ask them if maybe she could join them in their bicycle escapades, maybe bike to the park or something, it didn't matter if they were from her school or not, it didn't matter if the group consisted of some boys. After all, there could be a _slim, thin _chance that, with some ray of hope, she could talk to one of those boys without spilling a bucket of smegma and maybe get to know him.

They could talk, maybe have small petty dates, maybe hold hands by the beach.

Just as things get a little spicy for the pepper, Tomoko quickly flashes out of her nightmare, going back to her unwarranted stare outside her window, "That was terrifying, to think I'd actually talk to one of those jackasses!"

In retrospect, it does matter. It does matter if they're from her school, because if they are, then they _talk_, they talk a lot. They'll ask their friends what she's doing all alone, they'll ask where are her friends, they'll ask if she has _any _at all. Maybe they'll laugh, maybe they'll feign concern, whatever the cause they'll still have their eyes on her.

So embarrassing. So humiliating. Like an despicable infernal nightmare that lasts forty seconds, but seems like an eternity.

In hindsight, it does matter. It does matter that the group not consist of boys, or else, they would most likely fight over her. After all, _someone _has to at the end of the day, sort of a bottom of the absolute bottom of the barrel. There's no deeper end than that.

By this point, she doesn't care that she's practically an ape in a barrel of monkeys drifting out into the sea for horny fishfuckers to reel in, a majority being smooth talkers, the rest perverts that mask their age simply by lying about it online.

Thinking back, it does matter. It's not simple to just strike up a conversation with _anyone, _it might be a piece of cake for anyone that isn't as introverted and close-minded as she is, but for her, it's like walking a mile in no one's shoes atop a path of burning coal.

She ends up watching the group, (who turn out not to be in her class.) pedal away with mutual smiles of supposed permanent friendship, that in reality, a cliche that won't live past high school.

She entertains the thought of being able to get up a hill without killing her feet in the process, but ponders if it's really worth any trouble.

* * *

In no less than five minutes, a desperate conclusion is reached upon the hypothesis that one will never know unless they try.

Unaware to Tomoko herself, this rule doesn't apply to her, for whatever reason whatever she puts her mind into fails without a doubt, every single time. It's almost saddening. Almost.

Tomoko stands outside the Kuroki residence, face already dripping with sweat from the heat, her clothes sticking to her skin, and her hair getting so humid that it was a wonder how she could bear it all.

Her old bicycle stands before her, caked in layers beyond layers of dust from extreme disuse.

If someone actually cares enough to talk to the girl, and has the gall to ask why she carries her flat, uninteresting, pale rumpus to school everyday with such a sickly expression, she'd simply reply that a bike was practically useless to her, and just another way for women with stiffened nipples to show off thigh gaps and hips hugging onto spats, among others.

She drags a finger over the bike seat, getting it dirty in seconds flat, a grey-blackish color, a mixture of grime and other assorted dirt and dust, it obviously would benefit from washing.

There's a reason it's dusty.

She places a hand on her head, rubbing it as it starts aching, "Eugh, those memories, they're coming back again!"

The cobweb-infested training wheels attached to the back wheel only serve to incubate those vivid memories of the times of yester-year, about two years ago, to be exact.

It all just goes back to what her mind was juggling over earlier.

'_Hey, i__sn't that that one girl from our class?_'

'_Who? That girl? Yeah, she's from our class._'

'_Why is she riding her bike alone?_'

'_Maybe her friends left her behind?_'

'_But I've only ever seen her talk with two people, I don't think they hang out often._'

'_Ha! Hey look, are those **training wheels **on her bike?_'

'_Oh god, they are! She's still wearing training wheels!_'

Throughout the entire conversation, middle school-aged Tomoko can't help but have any other expression on her face but a deranged, psychotic one with a big fucking grin meant to obscure and delude herself of the **_severe_** embarrassment she was getting right at that moment. It was too impossible to bear.

'_Just kill me now. Just kill me now. Just kill me now. Please just kill me right now._'

They were bad at whispering.

She's good at eavesdropping.

She never rode that bike again.

If that isn't bad enough, the situation only gets worse from that painful memory, it turns from a small conversation into a rumor, a rumor spread around the school like butter on toast, a rumor that turns into a simultaneous joke, and a joke that turns into a vivid search party in order to locate and identify the feminine loser who still wears training wheels on her bike.

If someone told Tomoko the day prior to that incident that she would be eternally grateful for being unpopular and unnoticeable, she wouldn't' believe you without a doubt.

The search party turns out to be a failure, despite the amount of effort, the girl couldn't be identified with just the color of her disgusting hair and gender.

Tomoko has never been more relieved, she had made the wrongful decision in assuming that all's well that ends well, and then the next year comes.

And she's reminded of it.

'_Yeah, no, fuck that one girl I can't remember the name of. Bitch._'

But.

Even after facing embarrassment, times have indeed changed, for the better? Not really. But they've changed regardless. Middle school is but a thing of the past except for her potentially slut friend, Yuu-chan, not everybody from those times is attending her hellhole of a high school.

Second time is a charm, apparently.

In order to spare herself from more critical humiliation, Tomoko lugs a toolbox (her father's), outside of the house and places it next to the bike. She hasn't much experience with being a grease monkey other than _hygienically, _but there's no harm in trying.

Meanwhile, within the inside of the house, initially working on his homework, Tomoko's indecent handy work with tools has seem to have acquired the attention of her short-tempered brother.

Tomoki stares out his window, and all he can see is his annoying, idiotic older sister working on (and experiencing difficulty) with removing a pair of training wheels.

He would help, but he doesn't have time for that shit.

Despite that, no matter how much he attempts to work on his homework, his eyes keep and keep diverting from the simple paper to Tomoko.

He narrows his eyes and lets out an annoyed grunt.

'_What the hell is she doing?_'

* * *

The wheels fall to the ground with two small tinks.

The bike threatens to teeter over to the left due to its weight supports suddenly disappearing, and Tomoko resorts to leaning it on one of the house's walls to keep it settled.

Her clothes are rather dirty from all the work and fixing obvious mistakes in said work, but she doesn't mind much. To some, it might pass off as some sort of _cool _biker look. After all, it's what the people like to see.

She's about to get on, but then her mind prods her by proposing another question.

"Wait, where the hell am I going to go!?"

It's a nice attempt to try to be like the other guys, ride bikes to places with acquaintances, try to look as generic as the bland protagonists on TV that do nothing but ride bikes into the sunset.

But the realization hits her like a brick _fucking _wall.

Where does she need to go at this hour?

No where. That's where.

Dragging out a load groan, Tomoko presses her head to the wall, chiding herself for yet another stupid idea. Even though for once there's some originality thrown into the mix.

It's not how awkwardly she performed that's the problem, it's the lone fact that she couldn't even throw performance in the first place.

"No, that's not good enough! I can't just give up already!"

In the end, however, she decides that giving up is something only pussies like her do. Striking a pose, she grabs the bike by its handles, and rolls it out to the sidewalk.

Tomoki cocks an eyebrow at the sight. It's cringe-worthy, yet somehow better than mathematics.

* * *

It takes a matter of debate and self-confidence building for Tomoko to come to a conclusion.

The only reasonable thing to do when riding a bike is _clearly, _running away from home.

It sounds like an outrageous idea, but somehow the girl has managed to convince herself that the pros of the choice actually outweigh the cons. For one, if she were to run away, no one would know her where ever she went, new people, new greetings, new meetings. Simple enough.

She could ride the countryside and take pleasure in the breeze flowing about, carelessly dismissing the smog-infested stench of her old city, saying hello to all the cows and corpses of cows she comes across.

She could live in a small cabin in the woods, take rides on her bike daily through a trail, maybe even kick off her shoes and dip her feet in a clean, freshwater stream every day, and let the fish swimming inside nibble whatever dead slivers of skin accumulate on her soles.

If she would ever get tired of riding her bike, or walking, she could always hitch rides from passing travelers, spend a maximum of twelve hours in a van that smells of a mixture of alcohol, semen, used condoms, and other mixed smells she isn't enlightened about. She could use these rides to transfer herself from city to city, living the high life of a cool otaku gal who steals fruit from fruit carts and couldn't give any less of a shit if a rabid hound came chasing after her. She'd even do as much as flick them off if she has the chance. Fuck dogs.

Perhaps that same coolness may even earn her the same respect she briefly had with that lowly cousin of hers she dare not name. At the very least, some followers and a sidekick that act as faux-friends.

Visiting her family would be, tops, once per every other month._Per _month if they provide monetary support for the potential new lifestyle.

"Yeah, that'd be amazing... I could get those asses to do whatever they want for me..."

She isn't quite sure how the situation changed quickly from a girl embracing the beauty of nature to a shawshanking skank in a gritty city with a band of thieves at her side, but either way it sure sounds cool.

Eager to go about this new lifestyle, Tomoko plants her ass on the bike seat, legs shaking due to the sheer excitement of it all, and places her hands on the handles.

It is indeed happening.

Tomoki stares outside, unaware of her intentions, but curious all the same.

With a deep and courageous breath, Tomoko begins pedaling down the sidewalk, sheer confidence and willpower alone pushing her towards her new goal to popularity.

"**_A-Augh!_**"

She doesn't even make it five feet.

Her face slams flat on the pavement.

The bike is on the ground as well, wheels slowly moving after that sudden loss in balance.

It seems that in the midst of her dreams of becoming a rebellious rebel running a rebellious rebellion, she forgot the _one _thing that would keep her from doing just that.

She still can't ride a bike.

Tomoki, being the only witness to the situation, watches his sister get up from the pavement with a scuffed face, knee, and arm. Initially not giving two shits, he goes back to his mathematics.

Still, his eyes continue to deceive him, going from his ungodly homework to his ungodly sister, as if he holds some obligatory responsibility for seeing the event unfold first-hand.

"Ugh."

He slams his fists on his desk, admits a defeat, and with that surrender, leaves his room to go downstairs and get his shoes on in order to help his utter mistake of a sibling.

'_She really is retarded..._'

A realistic dynamic, to be sure.


	3. Lament 03: I'll Live With Cats

**Well then, I guess it's time for the weekly tugboat to keep on going. Fall is practically upon us, the former days of fun and what have you have all but faded away. Only less than 12 months until you can experience it again.**

**Masato Nakajima: Thanks.**

**Please review if you ever get the chance, even if you'd rather lurk or you're just not a reviewing kinda person in general, reading comments from you guys is like a drug to me, keeps me awake, keeps me going with stories like these. Hopefully this chapter appeases to you guys, I find it rather iffy myself, so don't feel afraid to give me the word. Thanks for your consideration.**

**Word Count: 2687 words.**

* * *

Lament .03: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Live With Cats

* * *

_"Oh, Kuroki! You're so smart!"_

_"Kuroki, please teach me how to do this problem!"_

_"How can someone be so pretty and so smart at the same time?!"_

_"I pleasure myself repeatedly on multiple occasions in regards to your mass intelligence, Kuroki!"_

_**"A-Ah, um, thank you everyone, y-you're too kind!"**_

The daydream shatters completely as soon as her deep, raspy, utter turn-off of a voice responds to the imaginary classmates, her beautiful figure reverts back into a shriveled, gross husk.

Tomoko Kuroki returns to her bedroom, the TV on, half-paying attention to it, half-not.

It comes off as a nightmare of sorts to her, especially since it hits her like a brick to the forehead. Usually her voice is of little concern to her, but that was back five seconds ago when she assumed that it was as cute and benevolent as every other slutty bitch in town.

_'Has...Has it always been this coarse!?'_

Tomoko spends the next few moments prodding her throat, looking for something clogging what could potentially be the voice of an angel. There isn't anything in there, but it certainly _feels _like there is, or maybe it's just her imagination deluding herself again into believing the impossible.

This small test ends up growing and transitioning to something more, from prodding to chest pounding to forced coughing, nothing comes out. Her voice is as natural as can be, the only con to that is that it sounds like a dead cat in the road.

As a last ditch attempt, Tomoko takes out her phone and stares at herself in the blank reflection.

She opens her mouth as wide as she can.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Nothing's inside it, but just out of curiosity, she keeps going just to see how long she can keep her voice up, as some slick way of determining how rough she really is around the edges.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

_'Maybe I'm overreacting, i-it doesn't sound that bad...'_

"**Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!**"

The longer she keeps this up, the more louder and annoying it gets, something that Tomoko turns a blind side to.

Until a voice interrupts her from downstairs.

"Tomoko! Is that you? Can you keep that racket down?! I can hear it from the kitchen!"

She instantly stops upon hearing her mother bitch at her from downstairs, and briefly loses her shit.

_'I'm not overreacting! I'm not overreacting at all! My voice sounds so bad that my own mom can't tell it came from her daughter, or a girl- period! I'm so washed up even she has a hotter voice than me, and she's __**old!**_'  


Never mind the fact that Tomoko has just unknowingly and subtly called her mom hot, everyone's had one of those moments. Distraught and barely able to cope with such a horrible truth, Tomoko throws herself on her bed, moaning with a tone that reeks of exaggeration for the sake emphasis.

Almost gauging on whether or not to spend the day lying around in a shallow puddle of grief, she ditches the idea when she looks over to her computer, a blinking light shining at her every other second.

"Oh yeah, my downloads..."

Prior to submitting herself to the horrid dream that brought her to where she is now, Tomoko finds herself returning to her former situation, stuck in the middle of the day downloading pirated games, songs, shows, among other shit.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click-Click. _

_Pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat._

A few more clicks and labels later, the unpopular wench stares at her new backlog folder, stuffed to the brim with things that have piqued her interest online, and that she feels she needs to experience at least _once _before she dies.

Unfortunately, being someone as '_busy_' as she is, the folder seems to experience more deposits than withdrawals, just growing more and more as the girl procrastinates to hell and back.

She exits the folder window and for a few moments, stares at a blank '_New Tab_' page with minor interest. Of course, she could always kill some time by actually _watching_ the stuff she torrents, but.

"There's not enough time to do that."

The girl has ventured to a point so deep that she willingly lies to herself to get out of something she actually wants to do.

There's no return from that.

Talking to herself reminds her that there's still a situation on-hand, the problem of her disgustingly sickly voice. She doesn't want to believe that it's natural, even though it obviously is, she'd rather be in denial than have to face the truth.

"...Could this be why I'm so unpopular?"

It admittedly doesn't make that much sense in theory. The rare occasion that she actually does say anything, be it a small answer to some lucky gun's burning question, thanking a guy that picks up things she clumsily drops, or the small horny hums she lets out while peeking at big dicks online in class, it's usually too low for anyone to hear.

But.

Tomoko spins in her chair, thinking out loud.

"If someone did hear me talk, and thought I sounded bad, chances are they could tell **_someone else_**, and then **_that_** person would tell **_two other people_**, and those **_two_** would tell **_four,_** and those **_four to eight_**, and soon **_the entire class will know all about my __dead cat voice!_**"

The possibility, as small as it is, worries the girl into gripping at her hair, pulling it harshly out of sheer slut-terror.

Ultimately her mind collapses mid-thought like shattering glass, and she finds herself subdued to watching just what might happen if all she does is live with that cat voice, and her blatant unpopularity.

'**_Meow!_**'

'**_Meow!_**'

'**_Meow!_**'

'**_Meow!_**'

'**_Meow!_**'

"I-I'll...I'll become some crazy cat lady!"

* * *

In an effort to calm herself down about her vocal issues, Tomoko spends the rest of her time on the computer, surfing the web for something of use that might just make her forget about the whole self-ordeal.

Because of course, it's the seldom-heard voice that's the issue, not the completely off-turning appearance and lack of social skills.

By pure coincidence, Tomoko comes across a site situated at the very top of her search result list, it would have it that luck reels her in to checking it out.

_Free Anonymous Chat!_

She mumbles to herself, "Mm..."

It's definitely caught her attention.

_Click._

Entering what may just be a bad idea, Tomoko glazes over the website. At a glance, it certainly seems safe, legit, that sort of thing. It isn't her first experience with the type of site either, that being the time she almost broadcasted herself on a livestream, before becoming afraid of what people might think of her real life appearance, that and having virtually nothing funny to talk about.

But this is slightly different, there isn't a broadcast of any sort involved, just a one-on-one conversation with someone she doesn't know from a part of the world she probably hasn't been to.

"...Would someone from another country be able to tell how un-socialized I am just by seeing how I type?"

Her interest piqued past the point of oblivion, she enters a conversation.

_Please Wait..._

It is the longest five seconds she's ever spent in her entire life.

_You are now connected to a complete stranger! Say hello!_

Immediately Tomoko tenses up with a shiver and gulp.

Here she is, in a chatroom, with someone that could be anyone, a guy, a girl, a pervert, a murderer, a jock, a nerd, a slut, **_anyone!_** And that person is just waiting for her to talk, to say something nice-like, like 'Hello!' or 'How are you!', not '**_H-Have y-you watched any a-anime this s-season?_**'

Fortunately, Tomoko has no need to start the chat, the unknown on the other side does it for her.

_Stranger is typing..._

_Stranger: Uh, hello? Are you there?_

"Gah! I've spent so much time worrying I forgot to say something!- But I don't know what to tell him!" risking a potential disconnection from the no-life on the other side, she goes with a gut instinct. There are two options, one resembles a typical chat bubble, the other a microphone.

She clicks the leftmost.

_You are typing..._

_You: U-Uh, hi, hello! I-I'm here!_

As she awaits a response, she ponders why she types out her stutters. What kind of person does that?

_Stranger is typing.._.

_Stranger: Hey, how are you?_

Her true response is told only to herself, "Bored."

_You are typing..._

_You: G-Great! I'm gonna be **really, really, really! ! !** busy later in the evening, s-so I'm just wasting time now!_

She is by far one of, if not the, worst liar ever conceived. Not because she's _bad _at it, (if she was she wouldn't have gotten away with the whole Kii-chan debacle.) but because she's bad at the lies themselves.

Each ruse is so upsetting and down-putting once you realize the truth behind the monitor, the one that the stranger is too blind to see.

He finds no fault in Tomoko's hastily typed text.

_Stranger is typing..._

_Stranger: Oh, that's great! Say, where are you?_

Tomoko freezes.

"Where am I? **Where am I?** What the hell does he mean _where am I_?! Am I talking to a serial killer!?"

Talking to someone at all is an accomplishment in its own right.

_You are typing..._

_You: U-Uh, wh-what do you mean?_

That stuttering thing is beginning to become a bad habit.

_Stranger is typing..._

_Stranger: You know, where do you live? I'm heading out later today too, maybe we can meet up! Don't worry, I'm not gonna kill you or anything like that!~_

She fabricates a reality in the void of her imagination, in which the strangers voice reeks of bishie most stereotypical, with eyes that seem to glow and also leak oodles of sparkles.

Tomoko herself is nothing more than another mere, more _'attractive_' hyperbole caricature of her own self, with all of her features, most notably her breasts, dialed up to eleven.

_"Oh, Tomoko... You're so beautiful. Please meet up with me later today.."_

Despite the lewd situation dampening her panties just a tad so, Tomoko has been around the block one too many cringe-worthy times to know that the accountability of her imagination is just as true as any mythological creature.

Considering her luck, she might as well be one.

_You are typing..._

_You: I-I uh, I'm in Japan! What about you?_

She purposely keeps things vague, only a moron would reveal all of that information upfront without any real lead-up. Anything to keep the conversation going, really.

_Stranger is typing..._

_Stranger: You too? Great, so we can meet! How old are you?_

Tension only rises as the conversation becomes more and more private.

"This is how it starts, first he asks where I live, then he wants to know how old I am, then the next I'm getting molested in an alleyway!"

What she says next is pivotal. She wants the conversation to desperately go well in an effort to prove that she can be popular without letting anyone know she sounds like a corpse.

If corpses talked, that is.

_You are typing..._

_You: Th-that's not something I want to share! _

It's almost humorous how different she's acting compared to the pitiful girl that talks shit about everyone in real life, a drastic change needed only to buy the stranger's trust.

She doesn't receive an immediate response.

But what she does eventually get is certainly more terrifying than any molestation implication.

"Hey! Are you there?"

He talked.

He _talked_.

He talked and her wax-infested ears were able to hear him perfectly.

Disheveled strands of hair suddenly curl upward.

Initially in the midst of freaking out, Tomoko takes a closer look at the chatroom window, her eyes wandering to the chat bubble and microphone icons from before.

"He used voice chat!?...Then that means..."

"Does he want **me** to use it too!?"

Before she can even contemplate what half-assed response to shit-out next, the stranger keeps his charade going. Admittedly, it's not that crap of a voice, but he was clearly in his twenties.

"Uh, hello? Are you there? I know this is so sudden...but can you talk?"

Speak of the devil.

Tomoko endures another gulp, it almost chokes her, she coughs into her arm, feeling queasy from the proposition. All ironically after developing a fear of her own, sickly voice.

_You are typing: I don't know about that..._

'**_Just kill me now._**

"Aww, come on! I'm sure you sound great, no need to be shy!"

That gives her a tiny shred of confidence, a _tiny _shred, since it's someone else complimenting her, and herself falling for a forced delusion in front of the bathroom mirror.

"I-It can't be any worse than broadcasting...can it?"

With nervousness up the fucking wazoo, Tomoko slowly creeps her mouse over to the microphone icon, sweat pooling on her forehead, dripping down oily skin and caking her in a moist coat.

_Click. You can now voice chat, please say something!_

If it didn't sound like nails on a chalkboard then, it definitely does now.

"H-Hel...H-Hello..."

It comes out as a squeak of sorts at the quietest volume possible.

How he even heard it is a mystery.

"Is that seriously your voice? Because it's so cute!"

"Oi?!"

She performs a double-take, eyes blinking twice. Sweat still dripping, and body still tight with suspense, she continues to mumble into the mic, this time something along the lines of not believing his false claims.

"What? No no, I really think it's cute! I feel like it suits you."

That couldn't have been more odd since she hasn't even show him her face yet. So odd, that she feels the need to point it out and tell him that.

He's rather shaky at his next response.

"Well, if you want, we can exchange pictures of each other. How's about it?"

There. Right **there**.

That was the **line**.

The **limit**.

The **end of days**.

It's been crossed.

Part of her is still convinced that showing her face online would be too "scary", now she was regretting meekly squeaking into her mic in the first place.

As the stranger eagerly awaits a reply, Tomoko freezes up, pulling a deranged expression, at a complete lost at what to do from this point on. If she shows her face, he could share it, if he shares it to the wrong people, losers and virgins would be laughing at her mug for a month, tops. She would never hear the end of it.

If she doesn't, she'll just be a lowly slut who cockteases boys for the thrill of it.

Breathing harshly and muttering expletives, the pitiful wench covers her heart with her hand, feeling the quickened beating that almost threatens to be let out.

She gags from the thought, but it's too late, her mind is already becoming overloaded with possibility among possibility of what would happen depending on her decision.

'**_Meow!_**'

'**_Meow!_**'

'**_Meow!_**'

So many choices, so many paths, so many routes.

All shitty ends.

And out of all the many, shitty ways she can choose to end or even if she was insane, continue it, she chooses the easiest and most quickest one.

_Click._

The stranger on the other side is met with disappointment as the chat comes to an abrupt close, with no explanation for why it happened other than a short error message.

_Your partner has disconnected._

Twitching idly, Tomoko lies on her bed. One wrong move and she could have been seeing horny dick on her monitor, while nub-tingling for her feminine hormones, her mind would much rather stay away, instead adoring the many 2D worlds and man-size pillows she's surrounded by. It sure contradicts her wishes of being popular, but being the definition of hypocrisy itself, this is to be expected.

If anything, her short trifle has told her a very valuable, yet extremely obvious lesson.

'_So, it's **not **my voice that makes me unpopular..._'

The fabled and willing protagonist unearths yet another shocking discovery.

'_At least he thought it was cute...'_


	4. Lament 04: I'll Spend the Day with Sluts

**If you were to walk up to me and ask me, preferably with some sort of mild, uplifting mood, on how I felt about the basic ethics of writing chapters piece by piece everyday with consistent editing all in-between, I'd say I find the method being very convenient, allowing me to do stuff like this at my own pace, while also having time to lie on my bed, not do anything, and solely focus on doing more stuff on my own pace. A timely change from the one where I aimed for something new everyday, but a welcome one nonetheless.**

**Masato Nakajima: Thanks! I tend to put in as much description as I can, possibly in effort to immerse the reader into the story, maybe help hit things even more close to home than they were before.**

**ashira23: Thanks, comments like these are much appreciated.**

**So, you may be asking yourself as you read this page at school, in your classroom and on your phone hidden rather shitty in your desk, "How can I help out this guy out and motivate him to continue delivering top percentage each week?" **

**The answer is simple: Review, it doesn't have to be nice, I could do without the blatant praise, you could even tell me to fuck off, but at the end of the day, reviews tell me people are reading, and help me continue. So even if you lurk, give it a shot, I always give a response back come next chapter, thanks. Time to cringe.**

**Word Count: 3658 words.**

* * *

Lament .04: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Spend the Day with Sluts

* * *

Consider it for self-approval, imagine a plethora of bitches, whores, and assorted whoremongers flooding the sunny slut-strutting streets with wide thighs, gaps the size of oblivion and beyond, and hips that could birth children from the heavens.

Scratch that memory from record, and imagine those same walking sperm-dumpsters, giggling with flip phones and accentuated breasts, leaving in socialized groups like packs of hungry, gossiping wolves.

There's one lone whelp, (**_Yeah, whelp._**) left behind in the cold dust, staring all melancholic-like, while desperately envying them on the inside.

That pup in this one instance, actually _isn't _Tomoko Kuroki, but instead some other dumb, nameless shrew. For once, the lonely, shriveled girl has finally acquired an opportunity to act like the bitches she hates but wants to be like, and has seized the opportunity with open, albeit lanky, arms. That opportunity is today.

But then the weatherman shoots her down with a simple, "No, fuck you." and ruins everything.

Thunder crackles far away into the distance.

Lightning follows.

Tomoko stands shivering madly just outside the movie theater, sheltered somewhat from the hellraising drops. Her hair, matted, wet, threatening to curl up at any moment.

Clearly by all means she's _anything _but overjoyed.

Shivering with feminine rage, she slowly takes out her cellphone, barely used for anything that isn't a family call or as she personally puts it, _slut-calls. _

Teeth gritting and eyes twitching, she stares at the message she's only just received, some minutes ago.

_I won't be able to make the movie today, the weather's gotten too bad! __I'm so sorry, Mokocchi! Stay safe and dry!_

She turns off the device with just one thing on her mind.

_'Slut.'_

If Tomoko ever deludes herself enough into creating a journal log containing all of the documented instances in which, for some ungodly reason, she missed a day at the movies with Yuu-chan, the results would be through the roof.

Fortunately the bitch is not all aware of the fact that Tomoko hardly ever gets any dick, lacks proper socialization skills, and has zero other friends to hang out with, if she did know, the pandering comfort would be too much to handle.

In this instance, however, not having any friends is justified. Tomoko would rather laze around, watch pirated anime, read pirated manga, play pirated games, read pirated light novels, eat ice cream that tastes like the sea and salt sailed over _by _a pirate. The problem is that no one _else _is interested in that.

She assumes Yuu-chan would be more than happy to frolic about, sucking the tits and dicks of her closest friends.

But not Tomoko because she's flat as a ironing board and practically has nothing _to _suck.

The thunder crackles again, lightning striking down.

Tomoko wipes her face, her strained expression never fading away.

'_I can't leave, not now. It's too wet, I didn't even bring an umbrella!_'

At the very least, she doesn't have to worry about the possibility of anyone stealing it.

'_Guess I'll have to wait for this shit to clear up, but- wait, no! I can't!_'

She stops herself mid-thought as a flashback hits her.

'_Oh, you're going to the movies with a friend? Alright then, it's supposed to rain though, so please take an umbrella!_'

'_I'll be back before it rains. Bye._'

She clutches her stomach out of pure disgust.

If she goes home early, no doubt her mom would berate her not listening to her and hastily running out with that superiority complex elitist attitude, it's happened before and it'll happen again. Plus, she'll question why she's home too soon.

'_What the hell am I supposed to tell her?! "Uh duhh, my slut friend is more worried about a drizzle than myself!" _'

'_Why? Why didn't I believe her?!_'

She falls to her knees, groaning out of failure.

'_The only way around that is if...is if I wait out here in the cold long enough- the same amount of time a movie runs- and when the weather clears, get home as soon possible! She can't bitch if she actually thinks I went and **had fun**!_'

She quivers not just from the cold, but from those tail-end words. It feels nothing short of queasy to utter something like that.

The wind blows again, and Tomoko goes back to shivering from the rainy chill.

'_That is if I don't fucking freeze first!_'

* * *

Not even twenty minutes later, Tomoko is pacing back and forth through the movie theater entrance, contemplating going inside to protect herself from the cold. Plain and simple, she just can't endure anymore.

The rain gets harsher as she stares inside the theater lobby, where most patrons are busy with their own thing.

'_I-I d-don't want to l-look like a loiterer!_'

Her thoughts are conveyed like someone with chattering teeth would.

Despite her physical ever-lasting want to go inside and get warmed by the heater, she's too stubborn to risk getting called out for being a loner at such a public place. It's just too risky.

Another gust of wind blows, and it tingles through her entire body like static.

It's a godsend that the entrance shades her from the droplets of water, but it's not a big enough miracle. Warmth, warmth, **_warmth!_**

'_You forgot to **not **make it cold as hell, you shrew of a god!_'

Coincidentally, lightning strikes.

It's almost as if the chill is causing her to go crazy, to just totally, completely lose it, just drop everything, hold total disregard for sanity, and just go nuts. Crazy.

_**Crazy like a crazy cat lady.**_

The prophecy continues to fall into place, and it's more or less giving Tomoko the heebie jeebies. Right now she's resisting the urge to arch her back, twist her neck, lap out her tongue and make sexually explicit noises.

Goosebumps.

Goosebumps forming everywhere on her body, her arms, her legs, it's like her entire body **_is _**goosebumps. It's almost as worse as the time she attempted to use a vacuum cleaner to give her hickies.

Almost.

If the temperature drops even one more degree, it's over. She'll lose it.

She twitches frantically, heart racing, she's almost debating on fucking over her loitering concerns and just basking in the warmth of the movie theater, anything, even another dose of public humiliation would be worth freezing to death outside.

She can hear the geese on her bumps now, quacking, mocking her, mocking her for being afraid of just walking into a theater for warmth. Of course, geese can't speak English or Japanese, so they instead rely on their own substitute.

'**_Quack quack! Quack!_**'

'**_Quack, quack!_**'

'**_Quack, quack, quack!_**'

'**_Quack, quack! Quack quack!_**'

'**_Quack!_**'

The quacks get louder and louder, and ultimately unbearable. In the end Tomoko _indeed, _loses her shit.

She jerks the glass door open, hops in as fast as humanly possible, and lets out suggestive moans as the heat instantly wraps her entire body in a coat of warmth.

Basically everyone in the lobby stares at her with confusion, the pitter-patter of the rain in the background.

* * *

About five minutes, realization of context, questioning from cautious and confused employees, and a mental bout of self-scolding later sees the demented heroine back outside, the rain as horrendous as ever. The warmth was much appreciated, sure, but she could definitely go without the awkward stares that were, for obvious reasons, more pity-ridden than anything she receives on a daily basis.

It's no wonder one of the women inside tried to shield her defenseless child away in the midst of everything. In hindsight, she overreacted.

And that was an understatement.

'_Back to teeth chattering then, I guess..._'

In a rather desperate attempt to tide herself over until the rain stops, Tomoko's eyes dart all over the surrounding area, hoping that something, _anything, _will catch her attention and make her think._  
_

Her smoldered eyes first meet an advertisement for a movie.

'_Hm, that was the movie I was supposed to watch with Yuu-chan... A low-denomiator-pandering romance story. I read reviews of it last night, they said it was terrible and lacked "substance", but it seemed like the kind of movie she would want to see. Oh well, at least now I don't have to stare at my phone for ninety minutes. I can just pirate it later._'

Just as Tomoko begins to gander about for another topic to talk to herself about, the door opens.

She pauses and glances over at who exits from the building.

Sluts. Wolf sluts. A pack.

The quivering whelp can do nothing but gawk in fear.

And they're not just any kind of run-of-the-mill slut either, what tugs at Tomoko the most is the fact that they're _familiar._

'_Agh! It's...It's those bitches from school! The ones that always sing karoke and make shitty jokes!_'

Thank fuck for the loose-caboose blonde one with the jumbo forehead, or else she wouldn't have been able to make the connection. Those bitches, and the _male _acquaintances of those bitches, all hanging out. It's almost infuriating.

Their faces, glistening with a not-so subtle teenage joy, something that Tomoko may never get to experience until a backwater one-night stand twenty years from now. She was indeed, _somewhat _envy. But she knew her place, especially around those guys.

And that place was far fucking away.

"Eh? I thought the rain wasn't going to start until later today!" exclaims one of the guys. Despite their distance, Tomoko picks up the scent of his man-musk, it reeks of his body, emitting (l_eaking _really.) succulent hormones, from what might just be a well-toned chest.

It both disgusts and arouses Tomoko at the same time.

But regardless, it doesn't completely deter her from the task at hand. Avoid them at all costs. Being spotted by them or worse, _acknowledged _by them, is not at the top of her priority list.

She scoots to the nearest corner in hopes of avoiding the limelight, giving little care for the pooling bugs crawling all about the cement at her feet.

That particular corner hasn't been cleaned in a while, or exterminated.

The bitchy guy from earlier turns to the other guy,"I thought you said you checked the weather broadcast today."

The latter boy holds up his hands in self-defense, "Ehhh?! I-I did! Honest! They said it wouldn't happen until later today, it isn't my fault they don't know how to predict rain!"

All the while Tomoko sits fetal in the corner, rocking back and forth.

'_Please have an umbrella. A ride. Someone to pick you up, something, anything!_'

Jumbo forehead makes her way through the both of them, lamenting her woes while covering her face with a hand, "How are we supposed to get home then? I didn't bring an umbrella!"

'_Too late._'

Her hopes have all but died a mercy killing.

Unaware that a few unsavory arachnids are starting to crawl up her legs, Tomoko stalks the wolf pack as they sit down and huddle together. Her lewd, distasteful mind can't help but draw a comparison to a five-way orgy.

In order to keep track with which slut is which, the unpopular wench gives the five simple labels, all based upon simple attributes. In this case, their generic teenage appearance.

In no such particular preference, the final listings are:

**_Mumbo Jumbo._**

**_Ponytail._**

**_Pinky._**

**_Musky._**

And **_That-Other-Guy._**

It's much like naming the seven dwarfs, except there's only five of them and none of them look like disgusting, little old men. A real plus if you ask her, she's in no mood to ogle at old guys for the next hour or however long god decides to keep pissing all over Japan.

"So, what do we do now?" asks That-Other-Guy.

Ponytail interjects with hands on her hips, "Well since none of has an umbrella, we'll either have to wait it out, or send one of you two down to go buy some!"

Musk cocks a thin eyebrow, accompanying that is a lamenting frown, "Eh?! Why us? I don't wanna get drenched!"

In retaliation, Pinky steps in, on her knees and a tad offended, "And you're going to make a **_girl _**do it instead?! Do you even know how rude that is?!"

Musk apologizes like all Japanese do for anything deemed dishonorable, but Tomoko isn't paying attention. Her sullen eyes have instead found something bright and fluffy to stare at.

Like most people her age, Tomoko Kuroki is trapped in a horrendously rapacious harmonic libido. If even just one guy does one little positive thing for her, she'll most likely fantasize about it, from where it happened all the way back home, in her room, with a tissue box too.

Pinky's current position does nothing but propel that horny connotation into near outrageous levels. She doesn't even care that the slut and her friends are vexatious baboons who giggle at every single thing.

'_Th-Those...those panties are really sexy!_'

There happens to be _two _reasons she's called Pinky. Other than her top, the fine lacing and uncontrollably soft fabric of her panties were coated in a hot pink hue. It's practically illegal.

It's almost like a forbidden fruit. Actually, considering their genders, it basically _is._

She wants to masturbate. She _really _does. It's a shameful kind of fap that does nothing but further demote Tomoko Kuroki's already non-existent reputation even more down the elastic shithole, all because of the lengths she would go to just to get it off.

During a rainstorm, outside a movie theater, in a daddy-longleg infested corner.

She continues to be relatively uninformed about the presence of the spiders, however, believing the longlegs prodding at her goosebumps to be nothing more than the sexual tension riding up her skin, brimming and brewing at the sight of such delicate fabric. It's nothing short of intoxicating.

To think this is the same girl who only years ago partook in watching local public-access educational puppet television shows with her mother and brother, back when they weren't embarrassed by her. It's almost a horrifying comparison.

How could a girl stoop _this _low and still keep stooping, one could wonder. Truly a mystery of the ages.

Fortunately, Pinky refrains from leaning forward not too long after Tomoko gets the heebiest of jeebies, stopping her before she could do something stupid and spotlight-stealing again. Her pink panties once again concealed by her skirt.

She makes a mental note to take pictures of it in class next Monday.

* * *

On a few occasions, her eyes sometimes meets theirs, and she fears she's been spotted, but everytime it happens, it just turns out they're looking at something else.

She isn't so sure if she's supposed to take offense to that.

Just as Tomoko's feminine boner is about to take off, her stiff nips are given a rest too soon thanks to a voracious voice cutting into the pack's conversation. The worst of all.

"It's the least the two of you can do! Stop being selfish!"

Mumbo Jumbo.

On an entirely honest level, Tomoko genuinely doesn't know why she detests her most of all. It could lie anywhere within the range of her blonde hair to her voice that just screams, "**_Dump it all over me!_**"

She has to suppress a cringe just to hear her voice, like nails on a chalkboard. Her forehead alone had to be covered in twenty pounds of grease and pimple pus, all prettied up and caked over by four- maybe five layers of whatever make-up is in style at the moment.

'_Her panties probably have blood stains on them!_'

She wonders to herself, why girls these days can't be more like precious Pinky and less like Mumbo Jumbo.

These thoughts are closed off as That-Other-Guy interrupts her choo-choo train.

"Alright alright, I guess we'll go-"

Musk butts in next, cologne "W-What? _**We'll**_?!"

That-Other-Guy is quick to throw his own rebuttal, "I'm not going out there on my own!"

A quick argument is settled as the two reach a stalemate, and in the end, they both hurry off the convenience store as fast as they can. The sound of their shoes eventually fades out ten seconds into their scamp.

Tomoko shivers, it's still cold as all hell. With the wolf pack of five now depleted to thtrr, the whelp figures she might sport a higher chance of not being spotted.

As the girls play about with mindless chatter as soon as the boys leave, she figures she's right. They probably don't even know that she's there.

'_How much longer is this rain going to last?_' she doesn't have a watch, but she figures this whole ordeal couldn't have lasted any longer than a half-hour tops. Not enough to convince her mother that she actually went out to the movies with Yuu-chan.

It doesn't take long for the guys to come back. Sure, they're drenched from head to toe in water, and they might catch one of those dreaded "_deadly_" colds often talked about in slice of life anime, but they've done their job.

Five umbrellas, three for three cum dumpsters and two for two potential train molesters. Sexually explicit mathematics with a hint of underlying contempt at its best.

Mumbo Jumbo stands up with her arms crossed, the smuggest of smirks on her tramp face, "About time you showed up! I thought I was going to be here freezing forever!"

Musk frowns while wiping his face clear of any stray droplets, "Oh gee, **thanks.**" he was clearly suspecting some sort of parade to be thrown for him, but it seems the tables were turned.

While Musk passes the umbrellas out, Tomoko plays on her phone. Stupidly enough, she's only _just _remembered that it's in her possession.

Indeed, the device confirms that a little over a half-hour has been spent getting hyped up on heater warmth and pink panties. A successful venture, if you ask her.

Once all the umbrellas get handed out, Tomoko assumes the group is on their way, and brushes a spider out of her face to see them on their departure.

What actually happens next fucks with her mind, oh so hard.

That-Other-Guy approaches her.

She pauses.

'_Crap! He sees me, I knew I should have ran!_'

She dreads a conversation, even though he holds a smile on his face. She takes note that something is behind him, but from where she's sitting at, she can't make out what it is.

Her heart stops at, _around _this exact moment.

What keeps her heart from spontaneously imploding is the context of their meeting.

He hands her an extra umbrella.

"Hey, I don't mean to interrupt, but you don't have an umbrella either, do you?"

Her heart is back up and in commission, and it's racing. It's racing like a behemoth.

"**_N-N-No..._**" she croaks out, voice cracking out of sheer nervousness. It's a guy. It's a _fucking _guy. It's a _fucking _guy talking to her. And it's not someone related to her.

It goes without saying that a wolf is still a wolf, but by this point the whelp is so cold that she doesn't even care anymore. Interaction is interaction. Fuck humiliation. Go with the crowd, go with the flow, jump into the flames and bask in the warmth of a million cats in a third-world cramped apartment building somewhere in Calcutta.

Not noticing her blatant communication issues, That-Other-Guy hands her the sixth umbrella with a smile that can only be matched by a bishie drawn by an artist who has no idea of the concept of anatomy.

"Here you go! No need to pay me back, it wasn't that much. It's just, I saw you there a while back and I thought you had the same problem as us."

'**_They knew the whole time?!_**'

She thanks him in _moonspeak _as she accepts the umbrella, now quivering from both the cold and slightly wet panties.

"Say, I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name? What school do you go to?"

'_W-Wait, a minute, they don't recognize me from class!?_'

She's half-pissed, half-relieved.

It's happening awfully fast, and the unkempt girl, reduced to a puddle of fear, has zero idea what to do. He's right there, a well-chiseled slut-penetrating face, he doesn't have the scent that Musk does, but he makes up for it in other fields.

If she wasn't a pure maiden she'd seriously considering hitching a ride on that.

However, since communication is a two-way highway, Tomoko is forced to give a response. In the end, and to save her identity from being blown, she fabricates a shitty story.

A shitty story comprised of a fake name and the name of a school that isn't hers, the latter of which she isn't even sure exists.

He doesn't find any faults with it, neither do the other four behind him listening in, so she assumes she must have made the right move.

"Well, alright then, we should hang out next time we meet!" suggests That-Other-Guy, a suggestion that gives Tomoko cold feet. She's fucking screwed for good the minute they spot her in school next class.

She lets out a mental groan, the hole she's dug this time is so deep that the only way she can get out of it is by hoping the status quo hits and by tomorrow they forget she ever exists.

She bids the five goodbye with a feigned smile and awkward laughter. And like that, she's alone again. Thank fuck.

Fortunately, the rain just _happens _to lighten up at that moment.

With the storm reduced to nothing but a light drizzle, a quirky Tomoko makes her way back home, both of her hands gripping to the umbrella.

'_Maybe I'll just tell mom Yuu-chan got sick and we had to leave early..._'

A fool-proof plan for a not so fool-proof whelp.

'_I really hope they forget about me tomorrow..._'


	5. Lament 05: I'll Write About It

**So Watamote, the anime adaption at least, comes to a close in two more weeks. Overall an enjoyable experience, hopefully the manga can catch up with enough material for a second season. However to be honest, this is pretty doubtful, rumors are it's selling like crap due to being a tad up the typical price-range. If you're into importing, I recommend you go ahead and give in your support. After all, it's not the show's fault it's not popular.**

**Masato Nakajima: Thanks! Writing for aroused or on-the-edge-of-insanity Tomoko happens to be two of my favorite moments while drafting the story.**

**Jalen of the Silence: Thanks, on some occasions I was worried I could have been more cringy, thanks for the re-assurtion.**

**InuYashaOuranKyoFan: Haha, thanks! I hope you become a continuing reader in the future!**

**If you can, please review. It helps me keep going, lets me know people are reading, and lets me know that more often than not, they probably want to see more of it. I always guarantee a response to your review by the next chapter, regardless of how positive or negative it was. I'm just that nice a guy.**

**Also, props to whomever gets today's reference. The idea was taken from all the shows Tomoko watches at home while on summer break. Mine's is kinda blatant but if you follow that show's formula you'll easily see what I'm getting at.**

**Word Count: 3117 words.**

* * *

Lament .05: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Write About It

* * *

Tomoko Kuroki, sitting on her bed, stares with endless eyes, her eyes fixated on a paper dictating an assignment. A simple homework assignment, at least, when perceived to the eyes of the rest of the people in class.

To Tomoko, it's just a barrier between her and her pre-planned schedule for the remainder of the day. Which was, unsurprisingly enough, the exact same thing as everything else she does every other day.

Spending the day dryly by playing otome games and reading manga, with a snack thrown somewhere in-between for good measure.

But no, not today, not now. Her evening of wasting time by doing absolutely nothing productive, ruined, thrown to the ground, spat on, stepped on, and then spat on again, by the hypothetical powers that be.

A dark aura radiates from the wench as she stares at the assignment line.

It's almost offensive.

Picking up the paper, she stares at it, melodramatic swears directed at her teacher just swimming about freely in her mind.

_Homework Assignment: Draft an essay regarding your views on the social __hierarchy system of a typical high school._

A convenient topic for once.

A weird, yet convenient topic.

The colorful vocabulary of curses faces a sudden shift into a food pyramid, except without the food. Instead in place of the edible delicacies are icons of all the slutty students in her class, though to be explicitly honest, they're just as delicious.

"I don't think I'd score very high on here..."

The pyramid proceeds to be organized by popularity, of all things. The highest tier belongs to Mumbo Jumbo, Pinky, and Ponytail, as if it could belong to anyone else. Just a tier under are Musk and That-Other-Guy.

About five or so tiers under that is Tomoko, all alone at the very base of the pyramid. There's no one worse than her because she's at the very bottom of the chain, she isn't better than anyone else, and no one but her has sunk low enough to share the title with her.

"...I didn't think I'd be **_that _**low!"

Her hope was at least tier three, tier five at worse, but even both of those seem like farfetched pipe dreams compared to what she does end up with.

_'Pipe dream? More like a pipe bomb...' _says her inner scorn.

"Tomoko, dinner!"

* * *

Following another mild-mannered fatherless dinner, Tomoko is back in her room with a homework that remains to be completed, and only a handful of hours until midnight. Unfortunately, she hasn't taken the time to think about the assignment, due to casual family dinner talk.

'_Social hierarchy, huh...?'_

Normally the ideal thing to do would be to just do the assignment and simply get it over with. But it goes without saying that Tomoko is in no way the ideal woman, in fact she's far from it. She would rather laze about, and try to find an excuse, any excuse to get her out of doing anything.

So that's what she does first.

_'Teach probably wouldn't buy it if I told him I'm sick. I've already used that excuse too many times, dammit! He'll just think I'm faking it and bitch at me again like the old man he is!'_

If feigning an illness won't work, neither will forgoing the assignment altogether.

_'That would be strike seven...' _she shudders. Strike seven means something, she isn't so sure what, she just knows it means something unpleasant.

Bony fingers from hands with overgrown nails comb through her thick and untamed hair, attempting to relieve her of some of the pressure generating from what is, a stupid little assignment.

_'I really don't want to work on it...'_

She isn't sure what's speaking to her in her mind, the side that cries woes of her unpopularity, or the side that lies about all day in bed, watching reruns of reruns of reruns of shows she doesn't even have an interest in watching.

In an effort to clear her mind off of things, she turns on the television and watches with average interest. An anime is on, not one that she personally follows or invests in, but an anime nonetheless.

_"Shirokuma, on a scale of one to ten, how popular do you think I am?"_

**_"Mr. Penguin, I think it'd be best if you get an answer, you might be disappointed."_**

_._

_._

_._

_"Can you stop interrupting me when I'm in the middle of something, Panda?"_

**_"Hey hey, Shirokuma, how cute am I? On a scale of one to ten!"_**

_"One...?"_

_._

_"That would be a bun."_

_._

_"That's a nun."_

_._

_"That's the sun."_

_._

_"A-Aah! Th-That's a paralysis stun!"_

In just a few minutes of playful banter, Tomoko finds herself immersed into the show, but more towards the topic of discussion, rather than the characters, setting, or anything else, really.

"If those walking-talking animals can be popular, why can't I?"

Something then hits her. Not literally, figuratively. Something about that panda. Something about what that panda said. Something about what that talking-walking chubby cute-obsessed **_panda _**and his talking-walking animal friends uttered so carelessly.

Tomoko thinks. Ponders. Contemplates. A flurry, plethora of thoughts being circulated all at once, in a matter of seconds the solution becomes so clear, as crystal even. She chides herself for not thinking of it before.

"Thank you, you fatass panda!" she drones with that wooden voice of hers, and retreats to her desk.

* * *

If there isn't a way to go around the assignment and find some way out of it, the reverse solution is to _do it_, indeed like a normal shrew would do, but in a way that benefits the introvert writer while also savoring an A+ in the process.

_Homework Assignment: Draft an essay regarding your views on the social __hierarchy system of a typical high school._

Something catches her eye.

Just under the assignment directions. Something about essay presentations being tomorrow. It only doubles, perhaps triples, the benefits of the situation.

Tomoko balls a fist, a cocky smile on her oil-ridden face, "Yeah! I'll just write a story about me being popular! It fits the topic, and it'll make me look good! The teacher will read it, he'll assume I'm cool, and then he won't worry about me anymore, he'll stop being a bitchy old guy!"

She picks up her pencil and starts on the heading, her smile fades away briefly "... I may have to exaggerate some details though, and maybe fib here and there, but it doesn't matter. As long as he doesn't ask, then maybe he'll stick with it."

"An-And with any luck, it might be so good he'll read to the class, and then the _class _will be think I'm popular!"

_"Oh, Kuroki, you're so great! And cu-cute too!"_

_"Kuroki, do you want to go take photos together later? I-I'll pay!"_

_"K-Ku-Kuroki, pl-please go out with me!"_

The stutters alone are enough to stimulate some drool and pleasurable moans.

It goes without saying that the broken girl hardly gives a shit about any of her classmates, (Pinky included) they're nothing but complete plebian casuals who go around flaunting their pussy for free rides and flimsy dicks up their loose cabooses, being pandered to as the lowest-denominator audience with things like imported fashion and mismatching stockings.

But potential friends are potential friends, no matter how socially retarded and ambiguously sexual they are. Tomoko is so desperate for some that aren't named 'Yuu' that she'll try as hard as she can to tolerate their obnoxiousness offending the inner machinations of her deluded mind.

For no reason, she hears a cow moo in her head.

The sluts, whether she likes stooping to their level or not, are her gateway to popularity should all else fail. (And everything else has.) Befriend the slut, go out with the slut, **_be _**the slut.

Tomoko recalls a term coined in an internet article she skimmed through the other day about popularity.

"It's practically **_slutology!_**"

And what better way to win over said sluts, who have probably forgotten her by now, than to have the teacher vouch for just how cool she is?

The smug smile grows wider, it's only an inevitable amount of time until she's within their cancerous circle of giggling baboons, adored by all the class, getting boyfriends left and right, getting molested on the train, **_molesting Pinky,_**all the while tossing insults at them from within the safety of her closed-off thoughts.

But first.

She turns her attention back to the television, laughing a most wooden laugh at every child-focused joke.

"That panda's lazy..."

* * *

Fingers gripping at her jawline, the others gripping to a pencil, Tomoko feels ready. Ready to tackle the challenge. Ready to tackle the challenge and be done with it before midnight, one AM tops.

"Activate, Write-Moko!" she proclaims, imagining differently colored auras surrounding her, exaggerating some sort of non-existent transformation process.

In no time at all, the pencil reaches the paper.

But nothing gets written down.

It's not even ten seconds into the assignment, and she's come face to face with a hurtful truth.

She hasn't written anything of this caliber before in her entire life. The deadly form of writer's block strikes, it strikes with a force so powerful that she finds herself frozen in place.

_'Crap...'_

Before drafting anything down, inspiration is her utmost concern. Nothing can be scrawled when there's no imagination to the mind to go with it, she needs to revitalize her inner-artistic beauty, galvanize the contours of her mind with an invigorating spark of complete literature genius.

Wires intertwine with each other, interlocking amongst the tinkering and tankering of various figurative cogs, gears, and conveyor belts producing artificial euphoria that would make even the most enlightened English teacher fall to his knees with everlasting praise.

Her contribution to the zeitgeist is one that will practically _rape _the zeitgeist.

She draws her inspiration from a cake trapped within a golden egg, and works her way from that.

Words start appearing on the paper.

_'Muncha, muncha, muncha...'_

* * *

Although she ends up spending way past her deadline working on the project, and although she may have missed her midnight fun power hour, the exchange was worth the extra time to work on her masterpiece.

The story, about three quarters of a page long, sits right before Tomoko's eyes.

She can smell the scent of success from miles away, it smells just like the sizzling eggs on her plate. Over easy, much like the sluts in her class, a beautiful comparison between food and bitches with flexible assholes.

"**Good morning.**"

Speaking of assholes.

Tomoki enters the kitchen, a look as sullen as his sister's on his face, but with much more intimidation slapped on it.

He is the first to notice that look of unwarranted pride on Tomoko's face, and wonders why their mom never bothers to pick up such signals. Symbols like that can only lead to trouble.

Trouble he wishes not to be a part of.

So he sits across from her like every other day, trying to avert her ungodly gaze at all costs, but it's impossible today, she unintentionally won't let him.

She has that orgasm face on, and he isn't sure if it's from the toast or the eggs, but it's reminiscent of those other annoying, humiliating faces she has whenever she feels good about herself. Those disgusting ants for example.

Her eyes are fixated on her story on the table, and it catches his eyes too, simply because it's not a staple to their morning breakfast routine. It's more akin to a magnet begging for attention.

He deduces easily that she's getting off to whatever she's scribbled down on it.

Out of their mother's earshot, he reaches for the story out of blunt curiosity, but Tomoko snaps out of her trance just as his hand grips the edges of the paper.

She snatches it away, chides him for not keeping his nose in his own business.

He simply tells her to piss off, both of their expressions turning into scowls of complete abhorrence.

But as soon as Mrs. Kuroki enters the scene, they turn back into what they were before, faces of moderate toleration.

While often times she wishes her brother would drop dead like the roadkill he is, other times she wishes that they could just go back to catching cicadas in the summer and benevolently treating each other with that kind of brother-sister charm that makes such a relation so adorable.

But those are now seldom times stuck in a mostly forgotten past, if he can't even remember a fucking cicada shell, it's obvious he won't recall anything else. Not even the essay he made about her. He'll just go, "Eh?" and tell her to fuck off.

It's at times like these where Tomoko bitches at puberty for ruining everything, yet at the same time, she can't help but wonder what'll happen when puberty leaves.

Living with cats is not the answer.

After finishing breakfast, she leaves first, bidding only her mom a quick, half-assed goodbye.

'_At least school will be better._'

* * *

'_Nope._'

She honestly can't be anymore wrong.

If it wasn't enough that she had to endure some unbearable banter between the slut group while tending to her shoe locker, it's just a cake walk that in no way compares to what goes down in class.

Pinky reads her essay in a mechanical, dead monotone voice, no different from any other of the students that have went up before her.

"In conclusion, the high school social hierarchy system is nothing but a myth. Although it may have existed in past years, modern times have proven that there is no such thing as specific popularity subgroups. How 'notable' a student is is actually based on who they talk to. After all, anyone can be 'popular' if they have friends to talk to, but that doesn't necessarily mean they'll be the talk of the school. Just well-known and beloved by their peers."

'**_Why the hell does she write smarter shit than what she actually says!?_**' ponders the unpopular stooge.

The teacher gets up, offering a round of applause that entices everyone in the class but Tomoko to award Pinky with, "Thank you for that intriguing observation, you may sit down now."

She bows, "Thank you!"

He sits back down and retrieves a list of students, so far all of them have gone with the exception of one, and it's extremely obvious who that lone one is.

"Kuroki Tomoko, you'll be our final presenter for today. Please come up to the front."

She tenses up, a measly strand of hair curling up on its ends, she begins to shudder involuntarily, '_Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. I messed up. I messed up. I messed up again!_'

It seems that in her haste to get on with her night of sexing up her visual novel boyfriends, she misread part of the assignment.

Teach isn't going to be the one reading the essays.

The student reads their essay. Aloud. To the whole class.

Her seat gets hot, she wasn't expecting this. She didn't know one small slip-up could lead to something so terrible, she's not prepared, not prepared to go up and read on her own. They'll notice her shaking, knees buckling, voice straining to get past even one sentence of the freaking essays.

'_I can't be popular if I'm shaking like a whiny loser!_'

First year can be horrible, considering the fact that the impression made in that year is pretty much cemented for the rest of the years that follow. And obviously, she's spent too much time without having made one yet on the class.

So what she says here is dire.

The class looks at her, some waiting for her squeaky voice to recant what she's written down on her shaky paper, others just wanting the shriveling shrew to read her shit so they can go home, and others just plain ignoring her like every other minute of the day.

Hot breath emitting from her mouth, she holds the paper to her face, so that she doesn't have to make direct face-to-face contact with her peers, and begins reading in the most awkward voice possible.

Popularity is at stake.

_"T-To-Tomoko K-Kuroki, is um, the most popular student at school. Sh-she is, uh, a g-great person th-that, everybody in her class adores. So-Some people even want to be, um, uh, h-her best friend. B-But she has i-incredibly high s-standards and, and, um, o-only accepts the most purist of people t-to have, um, the honor of b-being her friend!"_

_"T-Tomoko is um, a very fu-fun person that uh, um, likes to go to the m-mall! A-And eat at fast-food places! Sh-She'll do anything f-for you if you just ask, **a-anything...** A-And, and, I-I k-know th-this because I **am **Tomoko! (H-Hahah...) I-I am an example of s-social hierarchy b-because m-me just being alive, um, just **shows **that I-I'm s-so fun to be around with! S-Since I'm so popular! I-I mean... um..."_

_"S-So...um...Wh-Why not be fr-friends with T-Tomoko? Sh-she's so, um, c-cool!...y-yeaaah!...yay..."_

The end of the horror is signified by an awkward little 'fun' laugh.

After reading the abrupt and quite frankly, pitiable piece of writing to everyone in the class, Tomoko moves the report away from her face. Her legs still buckling, tingling shocks nibbling away at her skin, a forced smile trying to make herself look like the life of a dead party.

She is met with an army of blank faces, even the group of sluts don't know how to respond.

It definitely wasn't what she was expecting. But to be fair, had she knew she was going to be the one reading her own paper, she wouldn't have written something that in retrospect, was a blatant bucket of lies.

A lack of common sense goes a long way in the real world.

Above all, even though she may not have gotten any respect from her classmates (if anything just more reason to ignore her.), she still hopes she can rely on her old bitch of a teacher.

She turns around, paper shaking direly in her hands.

'_Say A+. Say A+. Say A+. Say A+ you freaking tool!_'

In the end, he just kind of sighs, looks at the ceiling, gives it some thought, then returns his eyes to Tomoko. His expression makes her fear that she may not have done as good as her hopes have strayed her to believe.

"Kuroki..."

"Y-Yes...?" she squeaks out nervously, again, in front of a group of impressionable teenagers.

"You do **know **what an essay _is_, don't you? Because it certainly isn't the fictional mess you just read to us."


	6. Lament 06: I'll Act It Out

**So, ever since Saturday I've been a bit under the weather, I've gotten better but I still have somewhat of a hoarse cough. It's really gotten up my arse, though. Anyhow, the anime ends next week, that's a shame, but an OVA is coming in October...of 2014. There's still the manga also.**

**Jalen of the Silence: Those are some interesting stories, although now I'm curious about your ex-wife. What was the falling-out between you two?**

**Guest: Oh wow, thanks for your reviews! That's actually the first critique I've ever gotten in a long time. Easily fixable, and it's already been done, so thanks for that point out. And I'm already aware about the localization release, I might just pick it up if my wallet will let me.**

**If you're wondering how to make my life easier when it comes to this whole writing debacle, I'll give you the answer right now for your satisfaction: It starts with an R, ends with a W. Give up? It's review. Helps me, helps the story, and guess what you get to feel a little good about yourself after submitting it. Thanks.**

**Word Count: 4660 words.**

* * *

Lament .06: BecauseI'm Not Popular, I'll Act It Out

* * *

It catches Tomoko's eye during one of her aimless walks down the halls, one of her past times during the usual ten minute break. She stops, because compared to all of the other posters on the bulletin board, it is the newest.

'_Huh?_'

After pausing, she backs up until her eyes are aligned with the damn thing, smoldering eyes piercing at the piece of paper.

The Drama Club Presensts: "Arigato, Gozai**murder!**" - Coming Soon!

Auditions to be held in the Auditorium This Friday!

'_A play...?_'

That's something she hasn't been affiliated with in a long time.

She walks up to the bulletin board. At first glance, it appears to be nothing more than a typical school production, with the mere exception that the concept's been meshed with a murder mystery for whatever reason, possibly to give it more flair.

When someone who wasn't supposed to be murdered gets murdered in an institution dedicated to murdering, a typical guy, his childhood friend, a detective, and the typical guy's talking bear sidekick (among others) must work together to solve the crime!

'_Sounds kind of dumb..._' drones the girl as her eyes give the summary a quick glance.

Obviously none of it sounds like it makes any sense, but the thought alone of a play intrigued her to the point of almost _un-ironically _wanting to try out.

By chance, it happens to be Thursday.

'_Even if I was dumb enough to try out, I probably won't get any good parts anyway. Not even the lead, not even a supporting character! All of that stuff goes to the bitches who can't even read their lines right. They always stutter and look at the audience like sitting ducks, the people behind the curtain have to whisper her the lines, it's pathetic._'

Tomoko would never make a mistake like that, or at least, she thinks so. Given that her only past experience with a play was back in middle school, in a background role no less.

She might be just giving herself too much credit again.

'_Hmph, I remember how that play went. I auditioned for it with Yuu-chan after she thought it was a fun idea. I didn't want to, but I had no choice. We both rehearsed constantly at my house everyday for the lead roles, I thought we were shoe-ins! Well, me at least, Yuu-chan's acting saw way better days. She doesn't know how to emote while in-character._'

In the end, they both did end up making the cast list. However.

'_That slut! She got one of the lead roles, and worse, all I got to be was a fucking tree! I didn't even get any lines either, I ad-libbed a ton of explicit puns for that lead part and they screwed me over!_'

* * *

_A full-house of an audience, a majority with recording cameras and other capturing devices, watches with moderate satisfaction as the play continues into scene fourteen. Just about all of them were parents who only came to see their child act, or stare at the crowd with a stutter, whichever fit better._

_Of these parents includes Tomoko's mother and father, as well as Tomoki. The three all wait in hopes that Tomoko's character will eventually be introduced, so that they can bask in appreciation of what could potentially be success for the Kuroki name._

_What **none **of them realize is that Tomoko is already on-stage, albeit not in the glamorous and showstealing role that she had previously lied to them about already having. In reality, she's tucked rather neatly onto the corner of the set._

_As a tree._

_'Fufufu...I can't even move in this damn thing!' _

_She stands with a grimace, underlying tones of jealousy directed at the only other person on-stage whom can take complete responsibility and blame for the turn of events._

_Unbeknownst to the audience, Yuu-chan secretly tiptoes her way to the corner of the stage, right in front of Tomoko. Despite gaining the role that Tomoko was **desperately **yearning for, she didn't study for it as much as she could have._

_The dress made her look cute though, something Tomoko was willing to admit to._

_'But I would have looked **way **better in it...'_

_Once the audience directs their attention away from Yuu-chan to one of the other characters on-stage, she whispers to the unpopular wench. Sweet, blissful, nervous, hushed whispers flowing almost mockingly into her ear._

_"Umm...Mokocchi...?"_

_Staying true to the arts of character, all the tree does is budge a little, no words are uttered._

_"Mokocchi, I forget...Wh-What's my next line?"_

_Despite keeping a straight face on the outside, on the inside the bark-faced hag is rolling in the sweet taste of bitter revenge. At least, revenge as far as not helping a friend goes. _

_Yuu-chan attempts again to get her friends attention, but it's too late. The spotlight is already on her by the time she's halfway through uttering that nickname again, she jerks up, blank-faced, quivering._

_In the end, she is saved by a hasty improv._

_Tomoko strains from calling out her friend for that quick save, 'Bitch! You were supposed to mess up! What happened to messing up!?"_

_She would have bitched more, but stagehands end up removing her after the set changed to indoors to reflect the next scene._

* * *

The girl clenches her hands, malevolent auras radiating off of her, '_Damn! To hell with that director, I could have done that part way better than Yuu-chan, she couldn't even remember her lines, they weren't even that hard!'_

Without a care, Tomoko snatches the ad from the board, dropping the thumbtacks it was attached to on the floor.

'_This time, **this time **I'll get lead role! There won't be a slut there to stop me, I'll act my ass off if I have to, screw background roles, screw all bit parts!_'

With a huff, the lone whelp storms off, hands at her sides, feet stomping on the ground with the sort of efficient invulnerability that she rarely ever shows in public, unless she happens to be that pissed off.

She **is **that pissed off.

At just that moment, the student responsible for posting the advertisement returns to check if its alignment is steady, only to stiffen with a mixture of surprise and confusion when he comes across the board.

The tattered remains of a few ripped pieces of paper and a pair of thumbtacks on the ground.

"Eh...? Where did the...?"

* * *

It gets worse at home.

Tomoko stands in front of the mirror, cheek cupped in one hand, a strand of hair being twirled in another, "But which of the lead roles should I try out for?"

That was a choice that should have been made earlier.

She proceeds to get on her knees, clawing at the air with an obvious lack of motivation, such a poor performance is followed by a some wooden impersonations.

"Roar."

She swipes a faux claw at her reflection in the glass, who opposes with a daring swipe of its own.

"Grr..."

She swipes again, this time with a bit more effort put into it. The loser in the mirror copies the movement. It is at that moment that Tomoko comes to a conclusion.

"I don't think I'd make a great bear."

She is quick to fall back on the other three possible roles, but her superiority complex isn't at all too keen on playing the role of the typical guy character. The running is hastily trimmed down to two potential roles.

"I wonder how good I'd be as a detective..."

She returns to her faithful mirror companion. This time cupping a hand over her eye to simulate a magnifying glass. She peers deep into the reflecting glass with that same dead-eyed glare, almost as if hoping to find something of value in an empty rough.

It's followed up by some more wood interpretations, courtesy of the greatest actor in the East that ever came to be.

"I don't like to solve mysteries, it consumes too much **_energy._**"

"I'm not a detective, I just get lucky."

"I'm curious."

From her end, it's nothing short of a flawless performance, no matter how blank the tone of voice is. But even being perfect can sport its flaws of its own.

"I don't know. Something's missing. Is it the pizzazz? Maybe it's because I didn't strike a pose before making my deduction..."

Although she does strike a pose and a deductive point, it does little to add to the performance.

"Well, that isn't it. What the hell could it be?!"

Scavenging for a trinket within the voids of her mind, something that could lead to her to what her performance lacks, is nothing but failed efforts and over-exaggerated mind losing. She once again goes back to a conversation with herself.

"...Maybe I'm just not cut out for a detective. That just leaves the childhood friend, I could probably do that one."

'_After all, that's the role most of the sluts'll be aiming for._'

She doesn't care that the childhood friend is usually the first to go in murder mysteries, if anything it means she'll have less of a chance to fuck the whole thing up. Overall, an opportunity of omnipotent proportions to teach the uneducated masses the arts of acting that which only tree-huggers have previously seen before.

"I'll show them who's a tree..." she whispers, a deep one with a threatening tone.

That night, she has an erotic dream about tree bark, but that's irrelevant.

* * *

"Only open to drama club members?! Who the hell came up with that idea!?"

The following day, she stands in front of the auditorium doors, cockblocked from her goals by a simple sheet plastered on the doors.

Auditions for "Arigato, Gozai**murder!**" Are Open to Drama Club Members Only - Sorry for the Inconvenience!

Normally the dick-lusting shrew would simply give up, with an excuse to toss up if someone were to ask her why she went all that way only to throw in the towel, but this time is different.

This time, it's serious, in a sort of metaphorical way. Like how a tigress hunts for the starving pack who are all too weak and afraid to carry out the simple job of murdering gazelles on their own.

She can see it now, Tiger-Moko prowling about the savannah, the gazelles representing the auditions, what few trees placed around the plains representing her will to _not _become a tree, _**again.**_

It's then that her eyes lock with a gazelle eating dead yellow grass in the far-off distance, its eyes look like it's been caught by a car's headlights.

Yet, even when its life is threatened by a socially awkward tigress, it continues chew on the grass, and for some reason, she lets it. Probably to justify the villainy of taking someone's last meal away from them.

The gazelle chews for what seems to be ages, but in reality is but a few ticking seconds.

It chews.

It crunches.

It munches.

It swallows.

**_Gulp._**

And in seconds it races off with the speed of a thousand gazelles.

But the tigress is quick to follow, and by nature, much faster than the gazelle could ever hope to be. In no time, the hunter catches up to the hunted, and is just a pounce away from a gory victory.

So, she takes that chance.

The gazelle lies in a bloody, soupy pile of its own blood and pus, organs leaking out from its oozing stomach. In such short time she does such a bad number on it. For a moment she has to consider whether or not she's gone overboard with it.

Overall, she elects that it had to be done. Natural selection only selects the strongest, and in that delusion-induced African daydream, Tiger-Moko is the strongest-and most popular- tiger that ever roamed the plains.

She drags the body back to the pack, and it's at this point that a concerned voice distracts her from the bloody deed.

"**Uh...Excuse** **me?**"

The dream dies.

Tomoko blinks twice before jerking upright, releasing her teeth from the soft cushioning of the seat. The blood, pus, fur, skin, it's all gone. The savannah is now an auditorium, her jaws are now slightly yellowed teeth, she's gone back from a furry to a consistently sweaty human.

The gazelle is now a chair.

The redness of the blood is now just the color of said chair.

The trees in the distance are now a few other students and a female teacher slash director.

She is now the lonesome whelp once again, caught by a pack of wild whatever-it-is-that-eats-wolves, all hungrily waiting for an explanation.

She licks her mouth, getting a taste of the chair in her mouth, and damn, it's awful.

She holds her stomach and mouth, preventing herself from gagging and causing more of a scene, but it's already too late. She's already gone too far, fabricated herself as some tiger, somehow snuck inside the auditorium, crawled around like a dumbass, and then ravaged a seat. It's already too late to save face.

"Excuse me...?" the teacher repeats, confusion on her face.

Tomoko tenses up, attention is now focused on her, knees buckling, eyes twitching, it can't get any worse than it already is.

The girl holds a weak finger up, and shyly points it to the stage.

"**I-I'm h-here to a-audition...**"

* * *

Tomoko's worse fears are confirmed. Indeed, the role of the childhood friend is the one role with the most female auditions, all sluts competing for the top spot.

Aside from a few hiccups, stutters, and the fact that she had to make up a name-_Komoko Turoki-_in order to convince everyone she was a member of the drama club, the audition goes swimmingly placid.

Furthermore, she is also given the privilege of taking a script home for further study should she get the part, or at the very least the role of an understudy. A doubtful chance, but a small slim opportunity nonetheless.

Tomoko makes her way home, head held up high, script in hand, and thoughts filled with nothing but self-praise for her supreme intellect. (Or lack thereof.)

But a problem arises not even a block away from home, and said situation arises from just a quick glimpse of the script and a majority of Tomoko's lines pre-bloody murder.

"Wait a minute, most of my lines are said in conversations with typical guy. There's only a few scenes where I get lines to myself, what the hell!?"

She cools down not too long after the minor outburst.

"...Well, I guess it makes some sense. I am supposed to be the childhood friend, so it makes sense that most of my dialogue is with that guy, but that just makes rehearsing more difficult."

She's already at the Kuroki residence by the time it comes clear. In order to rehearse the script, she's needs to find some willing lug to play the part of the typical guy, and under an unbelievably short notice timeframe.

She has no need for worry though, she already knows exactly whom to ask.

* * *

"No."

He lets his answer be known with a blunt tone that tells her to piss off, go fall in a hole, and never return.

'_That was fast..._'

Yet his denial does not sway her in the least, she clasps her hands together, a smile that reeks of trying too hard plastered on her face. She pleads, pleads, and pleads more.

But his answer remains constant.

"No. Get out."

She refuses.

Still vexatiously set on a positive agreement, she falls to her knees, bowing down to him like a dirty, stray pup would an un-desiring master. The weak, helpless, pug in the darkness.

"No."

"Please?"

"Can you just fuck off already?"

He attempts to return to his work, to at least get an inkling's worth of it done before the sun sets for the night and dinner commences, but she won't let him. She wraps her arms around his leg, dead-set on staying in place.

"I won't move from this spot then until you do."

He is no mood to get physical. No amount of unmotivated shaking can get the wench off of him. There is no stopping her this time.

He drones out a long, aggravated sigh. His blood is boiling, all he wants to do is get his fucking work done but she isn't letting him, she's about to work up his last nerve and pop it to kingdom come. She's nothing but a roadblock in his road to sibling dissonance that a this point, leads nowhere.

'_I really want to punch her._'

But he doesn't.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

She nods.

"You're not going to go away until I do this, aren't you?"

A second nod.

"This really can't wait?"

She shakes her head.

He turns away from her, folds his hands, and places them in front of his face, staring outside into the street. There are a million things he'd rather be doing, a billion people he'd rather be talking to.

In the end however, he has no choice.

Tomoki slams his hands on the desk and lets out another sigh, trying _so _hard not to lose it.

"Fine."

Tomoko has a visible smile on her face. Success almost has as good of a taste as revenge does.

She hands him the script for him to read over. Since Tomoko is killed off rather early, she only has a handful of scenes. In retrospect, he may have overreacted, but that's just because he doesn't want to have anything to do with her.

"Alright, so I start on page two?"

"Yeah."

He cups his cheek with a hand, drones out yet another sigh, and begins reading in a monotone voice.

"Whoa. Did you hear that? I think it was a noise upstairs. I don't think we should have came to this abandoned morg-"

"**No.**"

Tomoki looks up from his script, she's interrupted him. He's not even finished with his first fucking line of dialogue and she's already on his ass, he regrets his agreement to this.

"Eh?"

"Why do you sound like a dying cat? Put more emotion into it, you ass!" she insists, with a scowl that implies she thinks he's mocking her. Something she doesn't take kindly to.

"...Whatever."

He pounds his chest lightly, and repeats the line louder, and with a lick of emotion.

"Whoa! Did you hear that? I think it was a noise upstairs, I don't think we should have came to this abandoned morgue!" says the boy, with forced optimism. The script is exchanged to Tomoko, who is quick to bite back with her own line.

"Stop being so scared, it's nothing. Probably a few rats or possums."

Ironically enough, whereas she's able to spot the wooden try-hard in her brother's voice, she clearly isn't able to tell it in her own. He doesn't bother to notify her of that though, personally because he just wants to get it all over with.

"I-I'm not scared! I just want to make sure y-you don't get hurt! A-After all, I've known you since we we're babies!" he cringes badly. Not because of how much he has to force himself to say something like that, but more because what he just said was practically true in real-life terms.

"You know. If you're so afraid, we can go check it out together."

"N-No! It's not worth it, whatever it is could hurt you, I won't be able to bear the thought of losing you! I'll go...alone, I'll do it for you!" it's fortunate he has a strong enough gag reflex, the blatant implications from the dialogue alone are beginning to be too much on his stomach.

"How about a hug then? It'll boost confidence." she suggests, looking up at him with outstretched arms.

This is most likely Tomoki's limit.

His eyes go from her back to the script, she's not making it up, it indeed calls for a hug between the typical guy and his childhood friend-turned potential love interest.

'_No. **No. No way.**_' he repeats over and over in his mind.

Yet she still stares at him, expecting it, with that longing face that shows subtle ripples of their dynamic of yesteryear, and an attempt to revive, if not evoke a piece of that connection.

'_Onee-chan, I love you!_'

It's a dynamic he can barely remember.

He isn't so sure if they're acting or not anymore.

"You know, you're supposed to hug me, the script says so." says Tomoko, arms still outstretched, her impatience rapidly increasing.

It's something he really, **_really_** doesn't want to do.

He tries, he really tries to force himself to do it. He tries to pretend that he's actually in-character, that his room surrounding them is the haunted-abandoned morgue or whatever, he tries to imagine that his disgusting, perverted, filthy older sister is actually one of the cute girls from his school, he tries oh so hard to concoct such a distant reality.

He gets to the point where he gets out of his chair and outstretches his own arms, but that's as far as he goes. They don't even touch.

He gives up soon thereafter, returns the script, and quickly shoves her out of the room.

"I think we're done here."

"Wh-What? What are you doing? We still have a few more lines! I haven't even been murdered ye-"

He doesn't deem that excuse worthy enough of a reply, and ends up closing the door on her.

He spends the rest of his day in his desk, staring out into the afternoon streets with nothing but a straight face, and his face in his hands.

'_That was a close one._'

* * *

After realizing that her brother is nothing more than a useless husk of a tool that can't even commit to some simple acting, Tomoko spends the rest of the day rehearsing on her own, using different voices for each character.

It's straining, yet necessary.

And so, weeks pass with the same roundabout of rehearsal, getting down all those handful of scenes correctly to a T, nailing each and every character's line delivery, shrieking as loud as possible during her murder scene, apologizing to her mother for being so loud in the first place.

It blends into a sleepless routine, sometimes she doesn't even have enough time for her games, her obsessive virtual boyfriends begin to go weeks without seeing her. Yet she doesn't care, she's been down there routes multiple times, it doesn't even matter.

After the first week, she begins to use her plush buddies as character stand-ins. The white smiling pillow both the typical guy and sidekick bear, while the purple 'huggy' one as the rough-and-gruff detective with a heart of gold.

Another week and a half passes by. She has the whole play memorized now, even the scenes that have nothing to do with her character. It all escalates even more as the school announces that the cast listing will finally be up once the week is over, with the play itself to begin a few days afterward. A staggering three weeks of hell is almost near its conclusion.

A combination of the remaining nights sees Tomoko and her plush babies actually make it through the entirety of the play seamlessly. It's clear that she's ready, she's assured herself that there will be no stuttering, no screw-ups, no chances of more public self-humiliation.

She is ready to be the best childhood friend that ever existed in the zeitgeist of childhood friends.

Tomoko goes to sleep knowing that the role will be hers.

* * *

_Childhood Friend - Nemoto Hina_

"_**P-Pinky!? B-But b-but s-she's not even in d-drama club!**_"

"Well, we did some investigating, and neither are you, _Kuroki-san_."

She could have never been more wrong in her whole life.

'_And what's worse, they found my identity out too! Damn, damn, damn!_'

The director notices Tomoko's distress and offers a reassuring shoulder pat, "It's okay, it's okay Kuroki-san! You're not in any trouble! We realized we may have been too harsh, so we ended up letting some outsiders audition as well, so lighten up! You didn't get the childhood friend part, but there _is _a part you _did _get..."

Suddenly, her life doesn't seem so shitty, "R-Really?... Wh-What part is it? I-Is it the bear? B-Because I d-don't do bears..."

"Oh no, no, nothing like that. I have a feeling you'll appreciate this role. See, the script underwent some editing ever since the initial auditions, you'll be playing a _big _part now. One even bigger than the childhood friend!"

"O-Oh? Please, pl-please tell me what it is! I h-have to know!"

"I would, but I'd rather let you see for yourself. Here's the new and improved script, rehearse for it, I'll see you on performance night!"

Before Tomoko can question the director further, she leaves her in the dust with nothing more than a few stapled pieces of paper to answer her questions.

She doesn't hesitate to go through the script, and once she locates her new role, she snaps.

"**_What?!_**"

* * *

The day of the first and only showing of 'Arigato, Gozai**murder!**' arrives.

"Tomoki, can you hold the camera for me? I need to get something."

"Alright."

He grabs the camera, lazily focusing it on-stage as his mom rummages about her purse. His dad, on the other hand, is patiently waiting in silence for Tomoko's moment in the spotlight.

None of them know of the script change, her nervousness got the better of her and she refrains from doing it, and now it's too late to fix it. The play's begun, the ship has sailed, and although she's on it, she's no where near where she wants to be.

Suddenly, the stage lights go off, and a piercing shriek takes the audience in shock. As quick as they go off, they come back on, only to reveal a disturbing sight.

Pinky lies on the ground in a pool of red food coloring, dead, a dagger jabbed deeply into her back. The first to react is the typical guy, who falls to his knees, and caresses his dying friend.

"No! H-How could you... How could you die?! Why did I leave you alone to investigate the noise!? Why! This is all my fault!"

Pinky grabs his chin, slowly stroking it with a feminine touch that any girl but Tomoko could have pulled off, "D-Don't...Don't cry for me...I-I was already dead..."

The boy playing the typical guy shakes Pinky, hoping for some sort of response, hoping for a sign of revitalization, but it never comes. The end of Pinky's short lifespan is noted by a title drop that makes little sense.

"**_A-Arigato..._**"

She falls dead.

The bear sidekick-kid in a bear suit-prods her body with his fake claws, "Upupupupupu! She's dead! Oh well, I saw it coming, I mean, _we _all saw it coming, there was no hope for her! No hope, just despair! Upupupupupupu!"

The detective fiddles with his glasses, pointing at Pinky's dead body, "But how did she die? That is the question!"

The bear wags his finger, "No, the question is, **_who's next!?_**"

All Tomoko can do is look on with a kind of jealousy that exceeds general levels, '_Fucking Pinky, that was supposed to be my shriek, that was supposed to be my line, that was supposed to be my title drop! And my explicitly sexual puns, they're going unused-again! And that's not even the worst part!_'

She wiggles about in the background.

'**_I'm a fucking line-less tree again!_**'

Despite the tree's blatant anger, the rest of the play continues without a hitch. With the updated script in use, the audience is unable to predict the usual cliches and tropes that would hinder a murder mystery, and are taken aback with awe at every new reveal.

Even when it turns out the true murderer had been the tree the entire time.


	7. Lament 07: I'll Solve a Mystery

**The anime adaption of Watamote finally meets its end, we still have an OVA to come in 2014 and English licensing of the manga to roll out in a month, so don't fret. Are you ordering a copy? It's only seven dollars of much-needed support that could go into season two funding. Why not?**

**Jalen of the Silence: Thanks, the chair scene was probably the most fun I had with writing that chapter. Your ex sounds like she has multiple issues.**

**InuYashaOuranKyoFan: Thanks, and yeah, she really is stupid.**

**Guest (1): I'm going to bluntly stand here and proclaim that I haven't a clue what you're talking about.**

**Guest (2): Considering the last time she tried that, she got her eyes full of sweet, pure, uppercl**_**ass**_**men ass, I'd say that could be a good idea. We might venture into that dynamic sometime later in the story.**

**X: Thanks, I try to keep things up.**

**So, as you sit in your armchair, reading this story whilst more than half-baked after a night's worth of snorting whatever it is people snort, you might be contemplating how on earth to support the continuation of this story, as well my motivation to keep writing it. The answer: Review, it helps me write more, it helps you when I reply back to you, our backs are scratched, we're all happy campers. Thanks in advance.**

**Man, I must have been some sort of high while writing this one.**

**Word Count: 5005 words.**

* * *

Lament .07: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Solve a Mystery

* * *

A week that is already a dull and uneventful trial of nothing exemplary comes to a close with yet another dry weekend, which no doubt, will carry on with the same results.

Tomoko Kuroki is in the living room, on the couch, on her side, head resting on hand, watching trash TV for no reason other than complete boredom. A pocky stick is in her hand, a few inches away from her mouth, with an open box with two or three remaining ones sticking out lying next to her.

'_Damn! I've already done everything I wanted to do this week! All the anime I've been following this season have aired their weekly episode, and I've already got torrents of it online! All my manga haven't updated in months, I'm on their latest chapter already! And I've finished every game I've bought this month! Every route, every ending, everything! Agh!_'

With a final bite, she eats the rest of her pocky stick, and looks to the box containing the others. She jerks up at the staggering amount, for it's much lower than what she was expecting.

"Gah! How the hell am I going to make those last for the **whole** week!?"

Eyes darting all over the room for something, _anything _of interest to make her Saturday worthwhile, she's already conjured up so many fibs to Yuu-chan over the phone about spending the days doing popular things with '**_other friends_**'. It won't be long before she runs out of ideas for such contrived fables._  
_

"I need to do something, now!"

And that eternal yearning for a day of progression brings her to the window, dead, spark-less eyes staring out into the morning streets. Cars passing every now and then, cars filled with people that have important lives and people that expect them to meet up for slutty activities.

"Damn those pathetic losers, they're probably going out to eat breakfast, or maybe going to the beach, or to some cliff to get into in one of those all-day s-e-x orgies!"

She attempts to refrain from gagging, but does so anyway, "What a bunch of hacks! I'll never stoop that low. Once _I _have friends, I'll tell them what and what places not to go, but I'll probably keep the beach..."

As far as friends go, she always has the oblivious attention of the ever-naive Yuu-chan, but considering the day, she's without a doubt somewhere else having fun with her **_other _**friends. The ones that adore her solely for her looks, rather than the dork on the inside who still watches anime.

"Oh well. It can't be helped. Yuu-chan's screwed herself, she'll come crawling back in no time, and maybe, we can go to the beach together!"

The thought of the faux blonde in a bathing suit alone was enough to trickle nipple stiffening in her flat breasts, that and a few explicitly lewd scenarios, all of which happen to conveniently involve sunscreen application and its uncanny resemblance to certain sexual body fluids.

But despite her body wanting more and more, it's her brain that overpowers it. _Shockingly enough._

'_I'm too bored to even think sexually anymore..._'

She looks at her hand, all calloused and dry, cursed with the accumulating dead skin of a dozen dying cells, not at all soft like the hands of other girls.

"I'm so fucked up."

* * *

"Tomoko!"

A handful of minutes staring outside the window go by within the blink of an eye, the wench isn't sure if that's good or not, considering that although time is passing...

It's spent watching others have fun, or rather, go to the places **_in which _**they'll have fun.

"**Tomoko!**"

She chews on her fingernails, unhealthy habit, but expected from someone like her nonetheless, '_I guess at the very least I could just walk around and see how long I can last before people call me out for loitering..._'

"**_Tomoko!_**"

The yelling gets on her last nerve. Rather peeved, she turns around, "**_What, what, what?!_**"

The mother retorts back with nothing short of fury from the scorn of a general housewife, "**_Come here!_**"

Tomoko drags a sigh out, hands in her face, "...Every time I finally get the confidence to go out and do something, something like that always happens..."

Shoulders slouched, she makes her way to the kitchen to meet up with her mother. Although annoyed that her daughter's attention-span is less than appreciated, the woman gets over it out of typical expectation and hands her a small sheet.

A small grocery list. Which is then followed up by some yen.

"Since you're not doing anything today, can you go out and pick a few things up for me? I know you're lazy, but at the very least, _please _do this one thing for me, that's all I'm asking." although her back is turned to her, Tomoko can clearly make out the expression on her face. She isn't in the mood for games, or excuses.

There isn't any harm in trying, however.

With somewhat of a stutter, Tomoko raises an index finger and begins to toss a suggestion out into the open.

"Before you ask, Tomoki is busy, I'm at the stove, and I also have to go get the laundry later. So this is entirely up to you. No buts."

It is shot down instantly.

In no desire to push her ruptured luck any further, Tomoko gives up. With a grimace that over-exaggerates her ordeal to mass proportions, she makes her way to the door at the pace of a slug, list shaking in her hand.

One can't loiter around, stare at sluts having fun, and then desperately wanting to be included in said slut group if they actually have business to carry out.

'_Damn._'

* * *

On a typical Saturday, high school girls with lives, friends, suitable sex drives, and the risky self-esteem to make it all happen, would be hanging out simply because they have nothing better to accomplish. Whether it be near coastal areas, a park, a fast-food place, or _god forbid, _a karaoke bar, it's always somewhere generally perceived as 'fun'.

The basic arts of Slutology classifies these weekly events of self-indulgence and ignorance as a prime indicator of whether or not an individual is popular, and Tomoko knows this well.

She steps out of the grocery store, flimsy bag in hand, stocked entirely with a mix of vegetables. From squash to zucchini to carrots to celery among others, it's all in there. With not even enough change to spare the girl a small treat.

'_Why the hell do all of these have to be shaped like dildos? What the hell kind of soup is she even going to make with these!?_'

Although she doesn't receive any stares on the way home, she somehow finds it justified to power-walk back anyways.

If only it was surgically possible to remove the supple lips from a person's body, then she wouldn't have to be fear about being accused or mistaken for a crackwhore whose diet consists of an unhealthy serving of Japanese cock every Thursday night, slightly ribbed, uncircumcised.

Her dire urges to regurgitate are halted by the fact that she hasn't even eaten breakfast yet, unless one counts the pocky sticks, and throwing _that _up is the equivalent to taking a child's toy and smashing it on the ground.

Tomoko makes it to back home in no time, thanks to a suspicious pace that, if viewed by others, would make her seem like a fugitive trying to run away with a hoard of stolen valuables.

'_These aren't valuable to anyone but my mom..._'

Her feeble hand is on the doorknob, but just as she twists it open, a sight catches her attention, not too far away from her current position.

A sight relevant to her current interests, she almost drops the bag at the sight of it.

Panties.

Light blue, laced, clean, with fabric so soft it could have been skinned from the ass of an angel and no one would bat an eye. A fortunate snag on a bush keeps it from getting blown away in the breeze, allowing it to flow ever so gracefully.

Tomoko wipes her eyes with her free hand, she isn't sure if the sun is making it shine or not. Setting the vegetables down to lean against the door, she slowly treks to the bush.

And a chorus of angels begin singing in the background of her mind.

It almost seems like the lewd destiny of a middle or high school boy, to find a pair of panties just freely in the open for the taking. Yet in this case, harmonically rationalized thanks to a maiden discovering it instead of a plebian.

Sure the maiden is a disturbing, stuttering, unkempt piece of grandma-smelling trash, but she's a maiden nonetheless.

'_N-Normally I-I wouldn't do something like this, it's gross, disgusting, i-it **could **have **sexual diseases **laced all over it! Bu-But, but...I-I can't stop myself this time! I just hope no one's watching, th-that'd be **petrifying!**_'

It's so dishonorable that she stutters in her own thoughts.

Heart beating at an abnormal rate of unstoppable anxiousness and lust, she stands no more than a few inches from the bush. As much as she wants to make sure that no one is watching, her fingers disobey her, they simple can't wait for the punchline.

She swipes it, and runs inside as fast as her legs can take her.

* * *

Tomoko's mother receives the vegetables without much trouble, although her daughter's quick pace and nervousness is enough to give her a slimmer of concern. It's feelings like those that she's beginning to receive more and more often.

It's a sort of worry that conflicts with her former perception of a small, benevolent toddler girl who plays with her brother and gets him out of trouble whenever necessary.

With a sigh that reeks undertones of forced denial, she files it away in her mind and returns to the stove.

Meanwhile, Tomoko retreats back into her room like the unwashed fugitive she is, harboring the soft panties in her hand. After locking the door and shutting the window, she sits in one of the four corners of her room, and relishes in her liberty.

'_This is probably one of the weirdest things I've ever done._'

It takes a runner-up spot, second to that time she told those two kids she was going to take a massive shit outside the bathroom. Of course, that's an irrelevant circumstance.

Admittedly, she doesn't know what to do with it next. The options vary from decisions to decisions, she _could _wear it, she _could _fawn over it, she could _**wash it **_and **_then _**fawn over it, but one simple query seems to stand out of the crowd amongst the rest.

'_Who do these even belong to...?_'

Normally, detached friendless losers such as her would label their panties in order to keep from getting them mixed up with others, but numerous skims garner no such initials on the pair in her hand.

'_I know they aren't mine, mine are too plain, not sexy enough..._'

The depressing conclusion leads her to another one.

'_Obviously it belongs to someone else in the house then! Now let's see, ehh... Definitely not dad's... Doubt it would be mom's, so that only leaves... **Wait!**_'

In that brief moment, the mojyo recalls the bush where she first found the panties, and its suspicious location. It's enough evidence to conjure an initial lead.

The bush. The lucious bush that just happened to be under his window.

And so, with that simple lead, an investigation of the most lewdest variety is spurred into commission, one that doesn't really matter to anyone but Tomoko, one that any other well-meaning sleuth would easily pass on.

'_Activate...**Stealth-Moko!**_'

With some pretty moderate-sized ambitions, she heads out of her rooms, and prepares to confront the only initial person in the house that seems responsible for the crime of hoarding such angelic panties and not telling anyone about it.

Basking in its sweet fluffy goodness would have to wait until its origin is discovered, and whether or not its dripping in herpes.

* * *

It's not that Tomoko holds any sort of heartless detest for her mother, she actually likes the woman very much so. At least, she does when she's not being a raging cuntbag (that in reality is actually trying her best to ensure that both of her kids grow up being successful people.) about the littlest things.

But in her perception of things, this has gone too far.

Here sits the annoying, intolerable (at least in her eyes) boy. A game controller is held rather neatly in his hands, his eyes are just as dreadful as her's, but with a certain allure that shows vibes of circumstantial competence, which is more than what could be said for his annoying, intolerable (at least in **_his _**eyes) sister.

Tomoko clenches her fists in addition to gritting her teeth. He isn't busy, he's not spending his weekend doing anything important. He isn't doing any homework, carrying out any chores for the mother he feels works herself too hard, or hanging out with his douche friends.

'_H-He...He's just sitting there like a dumbass playing soccer games **online!**_ _How the fuck does he get away with that crap?! How come I never do when they walk in on me being lazy, and why did she have to lie to me?! Damn that sneaky cunt!_'

Obviously the answer is to force the mojyo to get off her god-forsaken ass and actually _do _something that her mother tells her to do without any complaint, but it's not like she _knows _that.

Tomoki pushes the pause button.

He's not normally one that would instigate an argument for the sake of instigating an argument, but in this situation, since he's the victim, it's not like he has any other choice.

Here he is, innocently playing a roundabout of online soccer over the net with his unimportant soccer team acquaintances and classmates, when that rambling, putrid piece of scum walks in with panties in her hand.

He's not bad.

He's not responsible for anything.

He's just an innocent little teenaged boy who would ravish in the thought of a normal life without annoying dirtbags that drive sticks up his ass every other hour.

This hour is one of those hours.

With the game frozen, within a stalemate of fun-killing suspense, he turns around to face his unkempt sibling. The amount of oil reflecting in the light is disgusting, it's practically gag-worthy.

"The hell do you want?" asks Tomoki in a dry, uncaring tone. Really, in all honesty, he does have some sympathy, but he doesn't show it because she'll horribly over-exaggerate the extent of said sympathy. Which isn't that far, just enough to keep her out of the grubby hands of an extremely desperate pervert in a grimy alleyway.

Tomoko flashes the panties in front of him, which he, by general assumption, believes came either directly from her unwashed ass or from her drawer. For his sake, he hopes it's the latter, because he might as well regurgitate breakfast if she isn't wearing anything under those shorts.

With a gloomy look and a gloomier voice, she poses like a detective would, "Are you a crossdresser?!"

**. . .**

It takes a few minutes to sink in because of how incredibly stupid her accusation sounds. And once it does, Tomoki is quick to react, not verbally, but with his own sentiments.

"**_Ow, ow, ow!_**"

He clamps her cheeks as best he can, earning some unnecessary bouts of distress in the process.

She frantically waves her hands around to get him to stop, but he's indifferent to it, and dead set on making sure it hurts. It's not so much a harmful dispute than it is his variation of seldom brotherly love. A holy grail in their mismatched family.

The term makes him sick to his stomach, but nevertheless Tomoki keeps his fingers clinched, like jumbo crab claws.

That is until she actually gets the strength to push him away. But before she can explain herself of her accusation, Tomoki responds again. Not with another jaw-clamp, but rather with his own retort.

"Again. What the hell are you talking about?"

Tomoko flashes the panties in his face, but it does little more than remind him of his regurgitation issues.

"Why are you showing...**_that, _**in my face? Take them back to your room, leave me alone."

However, she is adamant, and refuses to leave.

"You should know what this is, because it's yours!"

And just like that, all the stupid things she's uttered suddenly make a lick of sense. The panties, the accusation, what she said just now, and her overall stupidity, it's all coming together so much, and enraging him all the same as well.

'_Why does she have to be so retarded?_'

Tomoko's warped suspicions only rise as Tomoki denies his involvement.

"No. That isn't mine. I'm not a crossdresser, and I think you should stop playing detective with your own unclean crap. Now get out."

She clenches the panties, yet again shoving them mere inches from his face, "Oh yeah? How can I tell that you're not just lying, to save your ass and keep yourself out of the radar! What's your alibi?!"

He moves the elastic crotch-guard away from his face with a slap of her arm, "In the house, just like you."

Tomoko scratches her chin, juggling his words with some 'crucial' thinking.

'_Hmm, that sounds like a typical excuse for someone trying to stay out of trouble..._'

It's more of an excuse to get her to go away, but it's not like it was a throwaway line. It was one-hundred percent, certified truth. Certified truth intended to get her to fuck off so he can return to his repetitive soccer-shit.

"You know, I can let you go if you just help me find out who these belong to!"

He just really wants to punch her. So badly for that incompetent ignorance. Conversations like these are nothing short of bloody murder, it's a wonder how this is the same girl he spent everyday of his childhood with.

Tomoki shivers from the thought.

"You're really bored today, aren't you?"

Tomoko tenses up, giving him a dose of forced laughter and a deluded smile to accompany it, "Wh-What?! Ha, ha, hahaha! N-No way, no! I-I have tons of stuff to do, a l-lot, with my fr-friends! I-I just w-want to know who these b-belong to, s-so I can ask them where th-they buy their panties! I-I need more of these! And as my little brother, y-you need to help me!"

She's lost it.

She's really lost it.

Granted she 'loses it' everyday but that's aside from the point.

Tomoki crosses his arms, attempting to maintain some degree of calm and cool rather than lose it all prematurely, "And what makes you think **_I_** know how to solve mysteries? Especially **_dumb _**ones like this?"

Her reasoning is quite simple, and quite idiotic.

"It's all in the **_voice!_**"_  
_

"That's not going to convince me to play your little interrogation game, you know. Go bug someone else that wears panties." in bleak hopes that she'll go away, he returns to his game, but is interrupted before he can un-pause it.

The pondering girl drops the crazy phase for a second, mistakenly taking some of his words a bit too far. To the extent of mistreating it as a second lead.

'_Wait a minute...'Someone else that wears panties'. Someone else that's been near my crap-house before... Huh. Maybe he isn't such a dumb little brother after all. _'

Tomoko places her hands on her hips, a sudden flair of superior pride overcoming her, "You know, as your older sister I was beginning to lose faith in you since you're so uncooperative, but you came out in the end with some common sense. So for that, I can thank you."

The door shuts.

She's gone.

He's free.

He un-pauses the game, remembers that he had stalled it in the middle of blocking a kick, and accidentally lets the other team earn a goal and the points that come with it.

'_Shouldn't **I **be the one losing faith in **her?**_'

* * *

An investigation that doesn't really matter, led by a girl whose life is the **_epitome _**of things that don't really matter. Tomoko can only explain her sudden persistence as evidence of her returning to her sexy panties phase.

Memories of showing it off by accident in front of the class come to mind, and she cringes because that's just something she doesn't want to remember altogether.

Fortunately, the all-too realistic nightmare leads to a memory which she _does _want to recall. The shopping trip that lead to that misfortune in the first place, the one taken with Yuu-chan and the peach smelling pervert paradise store.

Speaking of that thigh-gap slut, that's just where the next lead stops at.

Returning to her room, she picks up her phone. Other than to check updates, go on the internet when not at home, and like any other teenage girl, look up pictures of dicks, she doesn't really use it much. No one calls her, no one texts her, if she does have to make a call it's from her end always, and Yuu-chan is the only person in her contact list that isn't family.

Thankfully, it isn't a roadblock, because that friendly slut is just who the mojyo needs to talk to.

It only takes the press of a button, and three beeps before she picks up.

"**_Ehh? Mokocchi?_**"

"Ah, Yuu-chan!...H-How are you?"

Tomoko reminds herself that she has to play things cool, she can't screw things up here, lest call attention and sanity concerns to herself. It is a vow of both lust and boredom, the captivating panties shall not go origin-less.

"**_I'm great! How about you, Mokocchi?_**"

Again with the half-heart forced giggling and stutters, "I-I'm fine, fine! N-Never better! But, uh, listen, I-I need to a-ask you something! D-Do you...h-have a second?"

Her cute and naive voice is nothing but a cover-up for her slutty, natural instincts, or so that's what Tomoko believes, "**_Of course! What is it?_**"

"I-I was just wondering..."

"What color panties are you wearing right now?"

Needless to say the return of that long-dreaded question quickly causes heat to rise up to the hogwash harlot's cheeks, "**_Ehh!? Um, uh, eh, uh!? M-Mokocchi!_**"

On Tomoko's end of the line, she hears nothing but the gargled rambling of a girl she's just caused to go into shock, because of a question she's already asked once before.

Once she regains a hold of herself, she answers the query, "**_U-Uh, um, b-blue!_**"

Bingo.

The answer segues Tomoko from clueless and in the unknown, to showering in over-bloating pride and praise for what appears to be a successful jump from zero, to panty-raiding hero. Such devotion to something so minuscule, has not only burned a few hours off the chopping block, but also in the process, has conjured up an actual "experience" for her to relish upon should someone question her weekend.

'_Oh, Kuroki-san! You look so beautiful and happy today, that by chance makes me happy too! What did you do over the weekend?_'

'_I found the cutest panties ever, and I say that because they came from the tush of my slut friend!_'

'_Ooh!_' '_Ahh!_'

'_Kuroki-san, you're so kind! I wish I could be your friend!_'

"**_Royal blue!_**"

Theoretical glass shatters.

Tomoko flinches, suddenly feeling a cold draft tingle through her body, which could be explained by her imaginary shower suddenly turning off and tossing her into an endless void of nothingness.

"Wh-What...?" she questions, beckoning for the heartbreaking truth.

"**_Uh, um, _****_I was just being specific, Mokocchi!_**"

A devastating blow to what was thought to be the answer to a complicated, rambunctious goose chase.

'_Royal blue? More like a royal-pain-in-the-ass!_'

"Oh. . ." is all she can muster to say. After some small-talk, they both bid goodbye to each other, one clearly more optimistic than the other. It made so much sense, a slut somehow losing panties after visiting a friend, a possible occurrence. But not possible here.

Tossing her phone onto the bed, the panties follow suit, and her face finds itself basking in its softness. Soft fluffiness that she'll never be able to experience on her tush because given her track record, they'll probably rip, or worse yet, **_explode _**within the day she tries them on.

It reminds of her of that American movie (the one that wasn't very good.) with the ring that was so shitty and pointless because all it did was make one invisible, but at the same time, perceived by everyone as some weapon of mass destruction.

She sighs in the midst of mechanically rubbing against the fabric. It's a whole new low, but it can't possibly be as pathetic as eating in the restroom. Again, her presumptions.

'_I'm not a very good detective..._'

* * *

She gives up.

It's too much of a pain going around with a lame mystery that doesn't really seem to be heading anywhere, despite the concept that, from a blatant birds eye point of view, she hasn't really accomplished much to begin with.

When it all comes down to it, she can at least admit she spent the weekend doing something, it may not have been something outstanding and or completely life fulfilling, but it's something, and that's about enough as far as the Kuroki name goes.

Legs stretched explicitly wide, her _cobweb-infested catacombs_ emphasized, lanky arms at her sides, mouth apathetically chewing two pocky sticks at the same time, and eyes staring at the TV.

Another weekend in the life of Tomoko Kuroki, the most unpopular whelp that Japan has ever had the disgrace of harboring, but this isn't news to anybody.

The panties lie on the couch, inappropriately and anticlimactically ditched in favor of a rerun of a game show. A game show that isn't even _that _good in the first place.

It's an irony so offensive, it begs one to ask whether or not the irredeemable girl's been cursed with a bi-polar disorder.

Spoilers, probably so.

Enter the most notorious trump card come that day. Her womanly beauty only overshadowed by the bags under her eyes, a genetic trait plaguing the family, or just a shared lack of sleep, it's anyone's guess.

A basket is clutched in both of her hands, nothing more than a tirade of chores being chopped down to a few, no thanks to the oily sack of skin lazying about on the couch.

When her eyes catch way of said sack of skin, she cocks a questioning eyebrow.

"Tomoko? Have you been there all day? I said you could laze around but you could spare to get up every now and then!"

Tomoko turns around to face her mom, with the pocky sticking out of her mouth, her mother can't help but compare her likeness to that of a rubbery walrus.

It's not too far from the truth behavior-wise.

"Eh? No way! I...I've been doing stuff! _Productive _stuff! Th-This whole week has been nothing but productivity!"

'_I'm lying so fucking hard, why do I even try to?__'_

Surprisingly enough, her mother doesn't press further on the subject. It makes Tomoko wonder whether she's just given up on her entirely, or she trusts her enough to have faith in her.

It's an unanswered question that'll lie in tomes thousands of years from now.

"Well, the soup's done, I know you haven't eaten anything so I want you to go get a bowl right awa- Eh?"

In the midst of her hourly suggestions, the hard-working housewife comes into contact with the dreaded panties. Her expression of the discovery reflects shock, and once this resonates with Tomoko, she fears that it won't be much long before her mother resents her for being a kinky piece of shit.

Yet, as the younger Kuroki awaits for the shock to turn sour, as she awaits for some sort of punishment for being caught in possession of something so licentiously, salaciously, lecherously evident of a teenage girl's decadent libido.**_  
_**

It never comes.

She receives no punishment for her sexually sybaritic find. And if such things weren't heart-stopping enough to deal with, something else comes along that sends her voluptuous levels on a downward spiral to a disconsolate hellhole.

Summed up, she smiles.

"Ah! **_There_** they are, I've been **_looking_ **for this **_all day_**, thank you Tomoko!"

Affectionate pats of motherly adoration and a pure smile is her "punishment". Simply put.

Initially, the mojyo finds herself ripe with confusion, an understandable confusion based on the fundamental verity that she hasn't a clue what just fucking happened.

Her dolorous has yet to hit her, but it shall, in a handful of moments.

"I was hanging the laundry out earlier today and the**_ wind blew this out of the basket_**, it's nice that you went out of your way to do something nice for once. But...please don't tell your father. I will never hear the end of it."

She mumbles garbled uncertainties, eyes going blank, face draining of all color.

Her mother kisses her on the forehead on account of a job well done, much like she would do when they were both younger. However, a nostalgic memory cannot save any face for the completely petrified sleuth.

'_All the things I did..._'

'_All that glorifying..._'

'_All that time!_'

An enigma that doesn't really matter, solved by a snoop that doesn't really matter, who in hindsight, realizes that it is never a good idea to sniff things that don't belong to you.

In response to the conundrum's quaint yet terrifying resolution, Tomoko Kuroki does the only thing suitable for someone in that situation.

She screams.

Not for ice cream.

She just fucking screams.


	8. Lament 08: I'll Testify in Court

**Another week, another chapter. Once I get around to it, I guess I'll pre-order the first translated volume once that goes on sale, I mean, at least fork over ****_some _****money to the possibility of the anime adaption getting a desperately wanted second season. After all, everything only gets more psychotic once goes full second-year. With that said, a dub promo is already out for the show, can you believe that? Uh... I'll just let you look it up and comment about that on your own time.**

**Jalen of the Silence: Thanks! I try to make the cringe as natural as I can, love doing those parts. And don't feel sheepish about any of that, anyone these days that consistently devotes time to anime and manga insists that Watamote panders to them due to re-awakening some bad memories, which says a lot about its audience. Really Tomoko is just a generally shitty person, and that's what's appealing about her.**

**Trouble Lurking (Chp 6): Thanks! I like the name, how'd you think it up?**

**Trouble Lurking (Chp 7): After years of seeing her mom just sort-of "tolerate" her existence, I thought it'd be nice for her to actually appreciate Tomoko for once. As for the critique, this is actually a sentence I _had _trouble with and was debating whether or not to change. Thanks for the clarification, it's been fixed. See normally people would be up in atoms about reviewers "telling them what to do", but I frankly don't care about any of that. They don't call it a _review _for a reason, after all. Thanks!**

**As you sit in your dark room, reading this at night, TV blaring a show you don't even care about watching in the background, you're probably wondering how you can appease to the author without putting in too much work. The solution? Review. Please, it helps me more than you think, it tells me to get off my ass and actually start writing for one. So, you review, I respond back, we're all cool, thanks in advance.**

**Word Count: 5111 words.**

* * *

Lament .08: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Testify in Court

* * *

Normally on a rudimentary day, it would be considered absolutely unorthodox for a girl like Tomoko Kuroki to even communicate so much as a sentence, much less a word, to anyone in vicinity of her grease-ridden person. She just doesn't have those kind of traits.

It's not her fault, however. Nothing is. Her belief is that it's not _her _that's the problem, it's _everyone _around her that's the issue. If they would bother to change their shitty tastes to things **_she's _**interested in, maybe she'd actually have some genuine friends.

Unfortunately, countless tirades spent spying on everyone in class has led her to a conclusion. No one in her nearest proximity is an otaku as deep and intricately enlightened as her.

She is surrounded.

Surrounded in a sea of karaoke singing, cockroach fearing lunatics who can't even go five seconds without tossing someone a grand old parade because they got molested on a train.

But popularity isn't a factor of concern at the moment.

The door leading into the courtroom opens with a loud screech, it hasn't been oiled in ages.

Two rather strapping officers are the first to enter, chains in either of their hands.

The courtroom itself is of standard merit, there's a seating area to accommodate the instigating audience, seats for the extremely conviction-biased jury, the witness stand, the opposing tables for both the snitching plaintiff, and the no-hopes defendant.

Finally, there is the ever high-as-hell seat belonging to the judge, who most likely won't be giving any breaks to anyone anytime soon.

The officers start walking down the aisle, mumbling muffled expletives to the shriveled thing held by chains that they're dragging along, much like a flailing ragdoll. A ragdoll that doesn't even bother with putting up a fight.

They drag Tomoko Kuroki into the courtroom, who looks worse than she does than on the worst of the worst of her typically shitty days, though part of that stems from the fact that black and white just isn't her color. She doesn't even bother walking, instead letting the officers just drag her in the place. Even in cuffs she still remains as lazy as ever.

Japan has a hell of a legal system.

She passes by her family on the way to her perch, but even they don't offer her any sympathy for her condition. Not Tomoki, not her mom, not her dad. They all just stare at her with the kind of contempt that lets a daughter know that she's failed the family too many times, and this time was too much.

Once the officers sit Tomoko in her seat, they disappear from her side entirely, approaching the judge's seat with deadly glares, and even deadlier firearms.

'_If only this was a court show, then maybe I'd have a chance..._'

The judge appears without hesitation moments afterward, his face shrouded by a malevolent darkness, "So Kuroki! You thought you could get away with another one of your criminal deeds this time, but it looks like your fate has finally caught up with you! There is no escape! **_None! I even locked the doors and the windows!_**"

'_Shit, he sure likes to go through all that trouble..._'

If there's one fate the mojyo isn't willing to accept in any scenario, it's spending the rest of her life in prison. It's just a situation she refuses to see happening, and all because it's practically the biggest roadblock in her goals.

'_I can't go to prison, how the hell am I supposed to become popular in jail!? What kind of smug ass does he think he is?!_'

The smug-judge in question sits down, and begins to recite a quote from a piece of paper flat on his desk, courtesy of the plaintiff and his douchebag of an attorney, of which Tomoko herself has none.

"Kuroki Tomoko... It is with great pleasure that we announce that you are being charged with over a dozen accounts of public disturbance and over a hundred accounts of public humiliation! How do you plead?"

She attempts to say something, something in her defense, something that could act as a get-out-of-jail free card and save her ass at the last minute. But as much as she wants to say something in her favor, nothing comes up.

Her voice is hoarse, throat dry, eyes twitching, fingers trembling at the thought of prosecution.

She mumbles, but stutters prevent her from fully communicating.

"_**N-Not g-g-uilt-**_"

But the time allotted for the prisoner to state her lowly pleas of desperation isn't enough to satisfy anyone else sharing her disgusting air, what little she's said has no one convinced of her innocence, leaning more towards the lack of it and sending her frail ass to suffer in a void of washroom penetration torment.

In a rare moment, she begins to feel grief, genuine grief, a woe of sorrow that encases her desolated heart into jeopardy, and sends it to that agonizing soap-dropping dimension.

The judge slams his gavel, a jury isn't even a necessity, to him the verdict is clear, everything about the case is. The battalion of faceless space-filling unknowns can only goggle in awe at what could potentially be, the most over-exaggerated court ruling in the century of disgruntled proletarian disputes.

"Too bad, **_you took too long to say anything, _**the sentence is **_death! _**Death by, **_stoning!_**"

The world stops in moments, Tomoko is in a gridlock, the judge shows no leniency, no mercy for the fact that under her criminal intent, she's just a feeble high schooler with no dreams or hope for a future. His magnanimity is practically non-existent.

And in those few seconds that the crowd takes to gasp at the bombshell of a revelation, Tomoko offers yet another stuttering query.

"**_I-Is it a-atleast non-lethal st-stoning?_**"

The heartless repudiation couldn't be more harrowing.

"No. **_Lethal stoning!_**"

'_Fuck!_'

The rest of the courtroom quickly phases into a whirling blur around her, behaving irrationally, much like an out-of-control tornado. In the time it takes for her to realize that everything's falling apart, the tornado consumes her.

* * *

She returns to agonizing reality.

Another day in class inspires another slightly relevant daydream that ends in a relentless terror that could spawn a million dumbed-down, child-intended fables to be read on a nightly basis.

'_Class isn't even halfway done yet..._' she bases that conclusion on the mocking clock on the wall, the one smugly joshing her out of what little joy she has at school, by reminding her that the torment is far from over.

'_What are we even doing anyways?_'

In midst of her light-attention being squandered by false convictions and rock-tossing pedestrians, she's forgotten completely what today's lesson is dealing with, and focuses on the chalkboard to catch up with her inane peers.

It is a list.

A simple list of jotted-down court-related roles and the peons assigned to them to portray in an upcoming class activity, from what the girl can surmise, it's some sort of mock trial.

_'Hmph, like I care what this class does. Everyone's failing anyhow. I just want to go home already. Why does the day have to take so long? I never asked to be stuck with all these losers..._'

Racked with boredom and a degree of blatant school day despair that even a cuddly, colorless, diminutive bear can't even compare with, Tomoko drones the most longest of sighs. To make matters worse, the battery of her phone is all but dead, turning it on results in a second of power before giving up altogether.

It's a gut-wrenching sight to deal with, a sight for her sore, dead eyes. She can't read her trope-littered manga online if she doesn't have a charged phone, she can't search up dicks on search engines without a chargde phone, she doubts she can even get through the _rest _of the fucking _day _without a charged phone.

'_Sometimes I wonder if I'm just unlucky, or the world just likes to keep throwing shit my way. What the hell am I going to use to watch videos during lunch or break!? This is a disaster!_'

However, in hindsight of the catastrophe, it can't even stand on its own two legs compared to the cataclysm that Tomoko is about to face. A mortifying appalling calamity brought upon her by her old fuck of a teacher, and his damned random drawing technique.

**_Mock Trial Roles_**

**_Witness - Kuroki, Tomoko_**

'_What the... Who the hell authorized that without asking me!? I never said I was going to play along with these half-wits!_'

Despite being incensed to the extent where a single miscommunication would cause her to lose her shit, Tomoko keeps her look of indifference on the inside, even as the teacher goes on about their instructions.

"I'm sure that by this point, at least some of you are confused with what we're doing here. It should be fairly simple, the idea of this activity is to get you all acquainted with the real world by hosting a mock trial, not that I'm implying that any of you will actually _end up _in a penitentiary one day, but given today's equal opportunity students, it seems like a likely outcome."

'_I'd rather die than get locked-up, at least then I won't have to worry about being popular. Although in jail I'd probably have a greater chance of being molested than I do here..._'

Not that getting lewdly fondled in the steamy bathroom of a correctional facility by a '_bad_' juvenile delinquent is a fantasy that captivates her or anything.

Disregard the meddlesome yet blatant point that barely any women exist in a typical rehabilitation center in the first place, and that any molestation would probably come from the idea that a man with so few options but with palms that have a need for groping, probably would succumb to the next best thing at the end of it all.

'_I really have to stop thinking about stuff like this..._'

Although the situation is a heralding call to a spectacle no short of stuttering humiliation, she sees past it for the sake of not becoming a harbinger of refusal in front of the class. If she has to get it done, it might as well be done as fast as possible.

It comes off as no surprise that the classmates joining her just happen to be the very same irritating cluster of popular annoyances that have been plaguing her since the start of the semester.

It's simply something to expect rather than ponder about from now on.

Tomoko and the other drawn students are taken to the front of the classroom, where they are directed to a few re-arranged desks, desks altered with for the sole purpose of typical judicial standards.

She plants her flat rump on the witness 'stand' and waits with a look of insouciance on her face. She's expecting some sort of instruction, something that points her into the right direction in vein of just what she has to say to get a grade that isn't utter crap. In other words, some kind of script.

Which is why it comes as a shock seconds later when the teacher informs her and the others on the false case's basic premise, only to then drop the ball by revealing that every one of their lines has to be _ad-libbed_. No such directive stipulation exists.

'_Wh-What? Ad-libbed? I have to make-up everything I say, o-on the spot?! What kind of fucking teacher does this guy think he is!? We're all first years, how does he get away with this kind of shit!? I should just ask for a switch, the only ad-libs I'm good at are way too kinky..._'

And so she does, with a weak shaky hand, attempt to protest with great inner prejudice, her confounded role in the activity.

"**_C-Can I-I..._**"

She is quickly shot down by none other than the cacophonous tone of a fist turned makeshift gavel.

Court is in session.

* * *

For someone so angry about being forced into a rather straightforward skit, Tomoko fails in showing it on the outside, appearing only as a nervously shaking twit in front of the class. A debacle to gawk at, and quite the embarrassment.

Frankly though, no one cares or notices.

The farce case was simple from a pedestrian's standpoint, a generic hit-and-run case, wherein the supercilious mojyo lies as a witness to a collision of drastic proportions. What she played spectator to was a decision that was up to her judgment and her's alone.

It's a concept that strikes the shrewd, savvy side of Tomoko's inner psyche. When it all comes down to it, the ruling of the trial is entirely up to her own decision, its outcome, how everything came to be, how the hoax of a story writes itself, it all lies within her calloused hands.

'_Now this might not actually seem so bad... I could make up whatever shitty story I want, better yet, they won't be able to stop me, because I'm the only witness, I say what happens, I can make it as dirty as possible and no one would give two shits because it's fake! And if it's really good, maybe those idiots will finally start noticing me!_'

It's a power that's almost too unbelievable to be true. But it is, and she has taken full advantage it.

One problem remains in midst of all that, however.

'_What the hell am I going to make up?_'

She racks her mind for anything that could be potentially interesting to kids who don't do anything after school but sing and gorge over western culture and cuisine, but whatever comes to mind just happens to be ripped off from an anime or manga she holds interest in.

'_Would they take me serious if I said a calamity hit and caused the driver to run over somebody?_'

The pending thought prods her to turn to her classmates, who stare back at her with quizzical indifference. Although it's a creepy sight in its own right, it doesn't get particularly disturbing until their eyes suddenly melt like jelly, in addition to their skin rapidly flashing back and forth between human and doll plastic.

Fortunately it's just another brain-inducing hallucination.

'..._Probably not._'

Before she can think anymore on the matter, her time expires with another fist slam, which earns a hasty yelp from the whelp. With their attention called to the front, the class pays all focus to the teacher.

"Alright, settle down everyone. Now that the participants have gotten used to their roles, I'd like to give the prosecution a chance to go ahead and state their case. Everyone please stay quiet and listen while the presentation is going on."

They agree with a simultaneous 'hai'.

'_You're too much of an old dick to be a judge..._' she sneers at him, but it comes out more like a look of constipation.

On the table opposite of the mojyo's ugly mug sits none other than Hina Nemoto, better known under her hastily chosen label, Pinky, for no reason other than the fact that pink clothing is essentially her fashion statement at all times.

Next to her is the play-along hit and run victim she's supposed to be representing, Ponytail to be exact. Her injury is made overt to the other classmates by a simple band-aid plastered to her cheek. Cheap, but an efficient attempt at immersing the viewer in.

Pinky stands up with a blank sheet of prop paper in her hands, a pencil held just behind her right ear to look smart.

'_Heh, Pinky doesn't even realize how stupid she looks. Who puts pencils behind their ears? It looks pathetic, not even real nerds do that!_'

She may look horrendously stupid to the deprecating hag, but the other students don't seem to mind such a trivial piece, "Ahem. My client here today, Roadkill-chan -"

A distinct "Ehh?" can be heard just behind Pinky, clearly the nickname is in jokingly bad taste.

On the other side of the room, Tomoko clenches her fists, teeth gritting at the sight of both bitches, '_You're doing it again! You're talking way better than you do when you're with your friends! What gives?! Stop acting like you're top dog!_'

"-was ran over by an incompetent driver while walking home from school. The driver did not stop to administer assistance or call for other types of help, so if penalized, the consequences can be dire. Among the casualties include, broken ribs, legs, arms, and back."

With a face that emotes vibes of seriousness as far as acting goes, Pinky directs the class to Ponytail in a way to sympathetically grab their attention. The 'injured' girl picks the message up.

"O-Ow...?" she says as she lightly taps her cheek.

Tomoko places her head on the desk, un-caring if it looks inappropriate or not in front of everyone else, because they're all working her to her limit.

'_Are these people conspiring together to make me suffer or something?_'

At the very least, she still has the potential to have a cool witness account, which she's still scheming on.

"As you can see, my client here is critically injured and may not make it to see White Day."

As if on cue, Ponytail places her hand on her forehead, feigning mass disenchantment for such a shoe-locker loving holiday.

Pinky clasps her hands together, "We seek justice! That, and a settlement for my client's poor condition, for that, we sue you!" cue the deductive point towards the most criminally malevolent one in the room.

It just so happens that the defendant on the other end of the finger is Mumbo Jumbo and that ginormous forehead of hers, the incompetent driver whose skills behind the wheel are as good as a toddler's.

'_Why does she have to show that big thing off? No one wants to see your sweaty pimple-minefield!_'

Incidentally, the mojyo then brushes her hair aside to get an itch on her own forehead, briefly revealing for just a few seconds, a forehead field of shining whiteheads, twinkling diamonds to be mined as far as the eye can see.

She flicks whatever dead skin particles accumulate on her chewed-down fingernails out of sight, further unknowingly proving what a filthy hypocritical hog she is.

Mumbo Jumbo frowns in disapproval of Pinky's implications, staying true to her convict character just as good as her 'normal' friends are, "Me? How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I'm innocent! Why are we making a federal case out of this? If anything, _I _should be the victim!"

'_Aww shit. It was one thing with Pinky being too serious, but now **this **one won't shut the fuck up! Stop over-acting, no one's going to give you plug-ugly face an award, this is a mock trial!_'

It's almost amazing how defensively feisty someone can be when under the pressure. While no one's paying attention to her, Tomoko sneaks a few scratches at her ass, that itch just refuses to go away.

Pinky crosses her arms, so far the teacher seems to admire the fact that they're dedicated to their roles, "Alright then, since you're innocent until proven guilty, I'll just have to interrogate the only other person present when the incident occurred, then and only then will we know who's fault it really is. "

Mumbo Jumbo squints her eyes at her friend, "Who?"

To which Pinky points a finger at Tomoko and her delightfully shriveled figure, "The **_lovely lady _**over there! Ahem, I'd like to request that she be brought to the stand."

The teacher approves with a brief notion, "Acknowledged."

Tomoko on the other hand, is suddenly captivated by the remark, over-flowing with both pleasure and a face reminiscent of young, horny, teenage orgasms, '**_Sh-She, she c-called m-me lovely! Oh P-Pinky! I-I just knew th-there was s-some l-loser here that knew I existed! I never gave up hope!_**'

Really, Hina is just a girl that's too kind for her own good, and it'll come back to haunt her in about another year, give or take.

Mumbo Jumbo follows Pinky's delicate finger to Tomoko's oily face, "Oh? **_Kuroko-san?_**"

That strikes a nerve too far. As quick as it came, the mojyo's benevolent demeanor quickly diminishes into nothingness, and is replaced by one filled with nothing short of stark anger

'_Kuroko-san. . . _**_Kuroko-san. . . ? Kuroko-san!?_**_ Screw you! If you're going to say my fucking name at least say it right! Damn that whore!_'

Ironically enough, she looks past the fact that she still hasn't learned anyone else's name in the class. It's of a different caliber.

Pinky makes her way over to Tomoko, who so far hasn't done so much as utter a word through the entire sketch. Though she isn't quite sure whether or not that's her fault.

There's still a problem on-hand, however.

'_Wait, crap! I still haven't thought of what to say yet! Shit. What side do I pick anyways? Go with Mumbo Jumbo or Pinky?. . . Ehh, actually nevermind, that's an easy decision- Pinky. But what do I say?_'

She envisions the scenario in three separate realities, complete with second-hand embarrassment immersion.

'_**Sh-She wasn't really driving a car, sh-she was controlling an Angel, it caused the crash!**_'

'_**M-Mumbo Jumbo is actually the leader of the Murder Guild! She put a hit on Roadkill-chan, it was an elaborate ruse to raise her durability levels!**_'

'**_I saw everything! It was a Terra Former the entire time!_**'

'_...I don't think anyone'll get the joke if I say those. No one here actually watches anime, all they do is just sing! I might as well say Mumbo Jumbo was listening to loud music and it distracted her from driving!_'

Ding-dong.

'_Ugh...It's not funny, clever, or even remotely dirty, but it's all I can say that would make sense on short notice. Screw these hacks, it's not my fault they don't understand references._'

Pinky flashes Tomoko a smile, which doesn't help her case of trying to detest her and her normal-fag circle of friends, she really is the most pure of the bunch.

Standing just before her table, Pinky gives a small hand-wave introduction to the hardly-known degenerate. Unfortunately for that, the classmates don't seem to have any distinct reaction, so they just await for the girl to continue instead.

Which she does, after an awkward lampshade, "Ahem, Kuroki-san, according to all accounts, you were at the scene of the crime when Roadkill-chan was run over. Being an un-biased party with no connections to either the accused or the victim, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, and the whole truth, and nothing but it?"

That smile is too sickeningly pure to sling disdain at. Too disgustingly cute. A prime example of a munificent gesture that is too much to handle, too much to hold, a philanthropic flare that's both a curse and a blessing.

What a cunt.

Tomoko coughs, voice as coarse and raspy as ever, "I sw-swear..."

She swears to unholy hell that the sperm-dumpster vixens just from the corner of her eyes are snickering at her with child-like delight, but she can't be too sure.

'_They're always tittering and giggling like stupid hyenas, they might as well be hyenas!_'

Pinky lets out a heavenly hum, "Alrighty! Now if you can please tell to the um, court here, exactly what you witnessed during that fateful hour. Your testimony may help us untangle the story!"

A quick switch lands the spotlight on Tomoko again. She gulps, lumps of mushed whatever-it-is-from-last-night sloshing back and forth within her throat with the kind of nervousness that's only accompanied by the worst taste in her mouth.

'_Oh god, oh god, I'm getting nervous again. Damn! Sweat is all over my face, my pores are opening up, I can feel myself shaking. Thank god no one I care about is here, but how am I going to get out of this? What am I going to say again!?- Oh right. Something about music, music distracting Mumbo Jumbo, right, yeah, that's it. I mean I'd like some music to distract everyone else so I can get away instead, but that's not happening, crap, why didn't I object to doing this earlier!?_'

Pinky, old-dick teacher, and the completely biased mock jury await a response from the witness that will save the trial from submission, but Tomoko is at her public limits, not even acting as a slaughtering _tree _is worth the amount of pressure on her shoulders now.

'_Crap, do they all have to stare at me with those faces? They look so soulless, too happy! Stop it!_'

With no excuses, no vindication, no hope for exoneration, she is forced to capitulate into the hands of a bunch of first-year, extrovert, mainstream drones.

The young crone clears her hoarse voice, so dry and deprived of use, "Y-Yes, **w-well**, u-um... I **saw wh-what** h-happened, **a-and**, uh... it was-!"

Pinky slips her a note seconds before the conclusion comes out.

Saved by a figurative bell.

"Eh...?" mumbles the untouched maiden. She looks up at Pinky to question her sudden motives, though she doesn't reciprocate the communication, instead looking at the class.

'_Was I speaking too quiet...? Did they even hear me__?'_

She scouts the class for a reaction, and yet, they don't seem confused as to why she stopped, they show no implication that they were even able to hear her in the first place, or if they knew she started talking at all.

Not even the teacher seems phased.

'_Wait. But Pinky knows, doesn't she?_'

It's so sudden, so out of left field. A wave of uncertainty has overcome her, like a brick conking someone's skull in. She'd love to spend a few minutes on end finding out what's going on, but that's an impossibility given her position.

Using what little dwindling time she has left before the class notices how awkward things are getting, Tomoko opens the small note in hopes that maybe, things will start to make sense.

It's just one word.

_Lie._

'_Lie...? What is she talking about? Aren't I making this up anyways? Has she lost it?'_

Out of blunt curiosity, she turns the sheet to the other side, and it's there that she finds more unanticipated words from an otherwise sweet, truth-telling girl.

_I think the class might get a higher grade if we put on a better show. Please stall the verdict, Kuroki-san!_

Tomoko looks back at Pinky, who gives a small nod as recognition. It has to be one of the stupidest ideas she's ever heard, frankly she's never gave a shit about how she's doing in school in the first place and thinks unruly of anyone that actually does. It's a lost cause and just a roadblock on her way to becoming popular.

But on the other hand, it is Pinky. Even though she has the gall to associate herself with those other sluts, it does seem kinda nice, in a sacrificing kind of way.

'_She must think that's the idea of the century..._'

Plus, it seems like she's the only one in the entire class that actually knows her name, so that's something too.

'_She's really making me weigh my options here, isn't she? Eh... I really don't have any other way to get out of this. I guess it wouldn't hurt to play along. I'll have to say something vague to get by..._'

And so, once again, the woman of the hour is none other than Tomoko Kuroki, just like she was in her delusion-induced fantasy not too long ago, except here she doesn't have as much confidence to speak.

The class anticipates.

Hina awaits.

Mumbo Jumbo checks her texts under the desk.

Ponytail groans just to get more sympathy coos from the guys.

Old dick has his clipboard and rubric, ready to score the results.

It all lies on one testimony. And it's Tomoko's testimony, so nothing but failure or a seldom thrown bone can be expected. For the sake of everyone in the class, it has to be the latter or bust.

'_Can't I just go back to being guilty and five seconds away from being molested in the shower again?_'

She pulls a smile and starts that awkward laugh of hers, as if everything is just a big joke, which it might as well be.

"...I-I um, y-you got it wr-wrong..."

Still too quiet. But loud enough for the class to register that her ugly mug is trying to get something off of her chest.

Pinky notices this and does her best to cover it up, "Excuse me. Um, what did you say, Kuroki-san? Please speak up! I understand you're **_traumatized_** from the event, but please, this is for the good of the court!"

She wonders if she means that in a literal sense.

'_Traumatized is one way to put it...'_

So, the wizened defect raises her tone.

"...Y-You g-got it wr-wrong!"

Pinky taps her ear, "I'm sorry, can you say that one more time please? A little bit louder?"

'_Please, please Pinky. You're wearing my patience thin, I don't want to wish you dead and five feet under the ground too. I only have so much tolerance for people who aren't dumbasses..._'

"**You got it _wrong!_** I didn't see anything! B-Because...um... I'm **_blind!_** I couldn't have seen a thing!"

Her cancerous forum roleplaying skills finally seem to be coming in handy. That phrase actually sounded like she was _trying _to communicate.

Pinky steps back out of mild shock, "Okay, okay! I heard you the first time! No further questions, please."

'_You didn't question me at all..._'

Everything after that revelation seems to be going swimmingly well. The case is stalled to allow the sketch to get more dramatic and deep, and potentially get the greatest appreciation from old dick ever.

Everything seems to be falling into place, there's nothing that could **_possibly _**get in the way of Pinky's generous stratagem.

That is, until a certain blonde bitch with a forehead the size of Mount Fuji decides to open her slutty, trashy, harlot mouth, with a tone so infuriating and innocently dumb-sounding, it makes the mojyo want to stab herself repeatedly over and over again.

"Wait a minute. How can she be a witness if she's **_blind?_**"

Needless to say, the teacher and other classmates feel like they've just been woken up, and then rused. So they're not too happy about that.

'_Fucking Mumbo..._'


	9. Lament 09: I'll Take Care of a Baby

**Man, it's getting really cold over here, and it's just October. I was practically freezing in the morning, this fucking heater isn't good for anything other than making me suffer. Fortunately I have Pokemon X/Y to cool me over for the coming weeks. Speaking of which, that games' Hex Maniac trainer class looks so much like Tomoko it's uncanny. You should check that out whenever you can.**

**Jalen of the Silence: I can see your point, I was just explaining how her character appeals to me, but I understand what you're trying to convey too. Yeah, I can admit the ending was a bit abrupt, I was trying to go for the brick joke effect, see. Thanks!**

**If you're wondering how to help me out, I'll tell you how right now. Review, review, review. Tell me what you thought of the story, what you liked, didn't like so much, what you loved, etc etc. It helps me make this story better for ****_you, _****and keeps it from sloshing back and forth into a crappy mismatched brew of OC-tier fanfiction. I really don't want to stoop to ****_that _****level, so help me out here, and feel good about yourself in return. Thanks in advance.**

**Unlike most chapters, I'll be returning at the end to make a few notes.**

**Word** **Count: 4431 words.**

* * *

Lament .09: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Take Care of a Baby

* * *

'_I wonder what a guy's tongue tastes like. Would it taste like mine? Would it be colder than mine, warmer? I wonder how far down my throat it'd go..._'

Tongues lashing at each other, moans of unexpurgated rising elation, and a euphoria so wild and untamed that it completely yet momentarily, changes the very people it infects with the dirtiest form of sexual ecstasy.

Lips sucking all over the skin, from neck to chest to stomach, to everything else in-between. Not to mention the overall exaltation resulting from a night's worth of pure unsullied missionary penetration.

In layman's terms, sex. Big, naughty, dirty, hyper sex. That's what's on her mind at three AM, in a room during its darkest hour, illuminated only by the light of the monitor, her smartphone and its cracked screen synced right with it.

Tomoko Kuroki is a cantankerous sex-crazed codger stuck in the body of a development-stunted awkward little teenage girl.

'_These doujins suck, they're all drawn horribly and have no sense of coherent plot. Just because they're done by complete amateurs doesn't mean to have to be so fucking bad at it. Sex doesn't just start spontaneously from two people getting locked in a closet and deciding to fuck to pass the time, it's unrealistic!_'

After over-analyzing what she's just thought about, she pauses in mid-thought.

'..._Isn't it?_'

It would be entirely unnatural to say that most girls her age don't think about sexual intercourse and other similar romantic encounters at least once in their lives, but Tomoko took the case to a whole new level.

Rarely is there ever a passing night without her thinking about something so disgustingly perverted, that even a detailed explanation wouldn't be enough to convey to what extent her mind is willing to go, just to let her perceive some form of mental pleasure. Such things used to make her hair stand on ends, but by this point, it intrigues her more than anything.

It's because of those fucking fireworks, really.

It goes without saying that it stems from her brimming unpopularity, a fear of going through her whole life without being touched, without being cuddled, without taking in the musky scent of a man with the looks of a bishonen piece of heaven, and a tolerance for otherwise un-pleasurable little crones.

Here she is, thinking about what tongues taste like three or four hours from sunrise.

The most quintessential bachelorette in the Japanese market, clearly.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

_"Oh »Tomoko«-chan, you're too kind, but it confuses me. Why do you still forgive me, even after I let your sister ravage my purity behind your back?"_

_A) "I forgive you because I love you!"_

_B) "I'm willing to give you another chance, i-idiot!"_

_C) "It turns me on."_

_Click._

_"»T-Tomoko«-chan! I-I never thought of you to be the dirty type!...It's getting me horny._"

"You're the only person it seems to work on.."

_Click._

* * *

The night passes in a matter of seconds. One moment, the mojyo finds herself struggling to keep awake during another typical date the beach, (the four-hundred and sixty seventh, to be precise.) and the next, daylight breaks.

She wakes up in front of her monitor, rump flatly pressed onto her chair, game still running on a PC that's quite hot-to-the-touch.

"...Did I even get to bed last night?"

The answer, although so bleak that it couldn't be anymore obvious, initially flies over her head until she re-gathers her marbles. It becomes quite clear that there wasn't any sleeping last night. At least not any healthy kind of sleeping.

She groans.

"Something tells me I'm going to hate today."

"**_Tomoko! Breakfast!_**"

Depriving herself of all balance, Tomoko willingly falls to the floor with a booming thud. And out of exhaustion, she stays in position for a few minutes, until her mom re-affirms her status and motherly demands.

"**_Tomoko!_**"

Another groan and mild effort is all it takes for the girl to trudge downstairs to begin what will no doubt be, another day in hell.

A particular, certain kind of hell that commences the moment she bites into her toast. A family-friendly sort of hell, in retrospect.

Although Tomoki is third to join the breakfast bunch, his appearance gives off vibes that he's much more ready to tackle the upcoming day than Tomoko could ever hope to be. His bags aren't as bad as her's, and frankly his popularity clubbed hers to kingdom come.

Not that he really appreciated nor took the time to care about his own social status, it's no more of a concern than what clothes he chooses to wear everyday.

Silence follows as soon as he sits at the table, across from his hag of a sister that he only begrudgingly deals with. It's almost always like this, two siblings who just sort of '_tolerate_' each other, eating, while taking slight seconds to give each other stares. Stares of both downright disdain and unwarranted, haughty superiority.

A stare-down complimented only with a nice, healthy breakfast, essentially a black and white parallel.

But today is somewhat different from the usual routine of glaring at the opposite sibling, wondering, just pondering how in bad of taste it would be if either of them would walk up to the other and commit a nasty cheekbone-squeeze.

Tomoko is the one that sparks the difference, and her brother notes it as he looks up from his own food, catching his crone of a sister giving him a look. A suspicious look in midst of a sip of pure vitamin C extract.

She slurps because she's an attention whore and needs others to know how important it is that juice is trickling down her parched throat.

'_Why the hell is she looking at me like that?_'

That's what the annoyed boy is questioning within the insides of his mind. He _knows _her current, cancerous thoughts have everything to do with him, she can't possibly be staring at their mom, she's off behind the stove working her mitts off. Her eyes are just the worst kind of daggers, and those blunt blades are all set on his mildly-chiseled face.

Tomoko chews on her toast. She'd say something, but according to a handful mannerism guides she looks into online, it's **_actually _**quite disgusting for someone to utter words with their mouths chock full of post-munched food.

Yet she has no big gripe about it, everyone learns something new everyday anyhow.

What she _does _have a bug with, however, concerns her brother, which isn't anything new. It's an issue stemming from what went on in her damned head last night, a recent one that needs to be dealt with immediately to purge all instances of it growing into something uncontrollably large and frankly, dumb.

'_Hmph, he knows I'm watching him. Why does he look so bothered by it? Is he going to tell on me? 'Mommy, she's giving me that weird look again!', that's pathetic!_'

At the rate she's biting, she won't be done with that toast until ten minutes from now.

'_I don't get it. Girls come to our house to buy affection by giving him stuff, that I can understand, but does that mean they want to have sex with him? At least give him a kiss? That's kind of impetuous._'

'_I wonder if he gets offers like those all the time at his school. Would it be weird if one of them just asked him for a few seconds of tongue? Does he turn them all down?_'

"_Tomo-kun, please jam your cock into me!_"

"_Uh, I'd 'love' to, but sorry, I have soccer practice._"

"_Ehh!?_"

She clenches her fist in regards to his soccer-biased modesty, teeth gritting at the thought of such an inferior dick of a person being so polite towards any sexual request.

'_What a loser! If boys were clamoring at me, I wouldn't tell them no and ditch them for some soccer game. I'd only turn them down if they looked ugly, or desperate._'

Fortunately, the only clamoring she ever gets at school is whenever it's her turn to clean the classroom.

"I'm heading off now. Bye." with an tone of indifference and a hastily cropped farewell, Tomoki leaves, his pace outside somewhat quicker than usual.

It's no wonder why.

'_What kind of girl would he want to fuck anyways? I've seen the type that like him, they're typical sluts, but what is **he **into? Does he have some sort of fetish? All guys do, don't they? If a girl takes advantage of a fetish, can't they get spontaneous sex from that?_'

If there exists a concept in the world that gives him the urge to want to bone something, whatever it is can't possibly be as detestable than what Tomoko was into.

"_I'm sorry, I-I just have t-to keep you in here, j-just to make you sure you don't escape me again! I love you, even if you smell like shit._"

She probably would have replayed the entire CD drama in her mind like the wallowing pig that she is, had it not been for her mother.

"**_Tomoko! _**Aren't you going to miss school? Hurry up!"

'_Damn._'

Tomoko Kuroki leaves her house a drooling mess, her mind too wrapped up in a slew of disturbing, yandere fantasies to care for anything else in the world.

* * *

The hours counting down to her freedom tick by abnormally faster than she can count.

Another event-less day at school with no communication with anyone, more or less the usual for her, simply another day to add up to the counter of the number of days she's survived through without somebody talking to her.

'_I don't think I remember what number I stopped on..._'

Regardless of memory or not, the fact remains that the probability of it being a high number is a lopsided ratio.

'_Maybe I'll talk once the right opportunity comes up._'

At her sluggishly depressing pace, such a miracle won't ever come until she's in her mid-sixties, and ransacked from head-to-toe in dozens of cats, kittens, and atypically shaped cat feces.

And she would bitch more about such a petrifying fate, had it not been for the benevolent cheers of innocent children nearby.

'_Huh? A playground...?_'

In correspondence with irony's loving angelic hands, Tomoko finds herself in a playground of all places, quite possibly the furthest thing from an intersection stocked with women working their corner.

'_I must have taken the wrong way by accident, I should probably head back._'

Note the locution, _should_. Going home would be the morally proper thing to do, it keeps her mother from worrying that her unsullied daughter has fallen into the hands of unruly thugs that will, above all things, _sully _her.

Not that her mother really worries about her anyways, but there's a first for everything.

Either way, her sickly twig legs don't seem to care about any sort of integrity virtues, as not even ten seconds later she finds herself sitting on a bench, ogling at a bunch of pre-schoolers and other assorted toddlers.

Going on slides, swinging, running around with a hint of malignant carelessness, the sort of delight that Tomoko herself was on the receiving end only a handful of times in her youth, in the company of her brother.

'_I remember that stuff, I used to play all the time, now I don't even feel like going outside anymore._'

'_These kids are so lucky, they don't have to worry about being popular. They don't have to worry about screwing yourself over in front of a bunch of people, they don't have to worry about dealing with sluts, even if some will grow up **into **sluts. They're just fun kids having fun._'

'_I bet they don't even know they came from sex..._'

Leave it to a girl of her lacking versatility to allude to intercourse in front of a bunch of innocent moppets and their on-looking parents. It's a virulent habit, one that she can't help but let overcome her throughout the day.

It only jumps to a more muddling level the moment her eyes make contact with a breastfeeding mother. The sight sparks a question within her that makes her twig-legs feel rightfully queasy.

'_Would I make a good parent?_'

Not withstanding the certainty that in order to have a child, a girl has to be considered attractive enough by a male to engage in consensual love-making. She ponders the query all by her lonesome, a number of pros and weighing cons factoring in.

Among the pros is a series of cutesy fantasies involving a significantly-older Tomoko and her mystery child, the most prominent of which being a frolic through a field of water-colored flowers.

Which is conversely countered with a fantasy of a crying tot demanding this, that, and everything in-between. Gripped in his stubby fingers is a fistful of shorts, shorts from a busy mojyo juggling multiple house-duties simultaneously.

If that chimera wasn't already incessantly frenetic enough, it gets progressively worse the moment her most 'sacred' womanly euphemism gains the abilities of a heavy-loaded culverin.

It's a first to be sure. Before that point, no individual has been able to say that they've had clusters of unpopular newborns shot out in rapid succession out of their genitals before.

As the rate of crying becomes more ostensibly unbearable, so does Tomoko's suffering, a tandem combination of infant despair.

'_Maybe I'm just thinking too hard about it. If I think about it realistically, if I just have one kid, and if I marry one guy who doesn't turn out to be a fucking deadbeat, I might be okay._'

Might of course being the key moniker.

Before she can think any further on the subject, she is adjourned by an approaching toddler. She deduces from his diminutive stature and jubilant dissemination that he couldn't have been any more than five, maybe six years old.

"Hey hey, aren't you-a litt-a bit too old t'-be here?" he asks, with a tone so exuberantly inaugurate, Tomoko has to wonder if he's doing it on purpose.

Even though no child can be that premeditated.

Tomoko isn't one to fib or deceive, at least not to children. It was a concept that didn't rub well with her, it felt too wrong. Her cousin, of course, being the only withstanding iota.

"Yeah."

"Then why are you-a here, huh huh?"

Despite her clemency to today's youth, she knows enough to know that _any _kid can be annoying enough to kick, provided they push all the wrong buttons first.

"I..." she starts.

But fails to get the ball rolling.

"...don't know. I really don't."

"Ohhh?"

Realizing that she really _has _no justification for staying in such a kid-oriented place, (nostalgia is certainly no rationalization.) she stands up with intentions of leaving before arousing anymore suspicious looks, in order to head back to her home in purgatory.

'_Maybe I can come back once I have my own kid._'

The only problem with that is that she's clueless as to how far away from now it'll be until that happens.

It turns out the jovial boy isn't done with her, however. He runs his mouth once more as Tomoko heads out. What he says manages to spawn an immense blush to overcome her.

"Hey hey,_ you're really pretty, you know_!"

* * *

Children can be mischievous little scamps to whomever they disdain, and in addition, positive suck-ups that live only to please the elders that pay no mind in letting them do and get whatever they want.

Tomoko knows this concept all too well, and could not care less.

Back in the cursed confines of her room, she spins around in her swivel chair, a wide smile on her face and tipsy titters accompanying it, "H-He...h-he called m-me pretty!"

"S-Sure, h-he may have been h-half my size, a-and age too, but **_he called me pretty!_**"

It could be entirely possible that he's just another one of those kids that likes long hair, or girls who don't tell him to leave him alone or stop being 'mean', or girls who just naturally remind him of his grandma.

But she really doesn't care because tiny cock or no cock, she has once again been tossed a bone in the difficult route of male affections.

"It would be weird and gross if I tried to tongue-kiss a little kid, he'd probably be too inexperienced to do it right. So I guess I'll give him a break on that."

She stops spinning, but the smile remains plastered on her greasy face, like an off-spring of that kid's infectious smile. Either way, she doesn't care how sick she is as long she's feeling elated.

"Now I'm so happy, I...I-I feel like I can do anything!"

And it's that kind of incentive that gives her the power and mobility to get up off of her ass for once, and finally try her luck at getting rid of what's been eating at her mind since dawn broke.

With a notable hop and deep giggle in her prance, she leaves her room and makes way down the hall. Her excursion stops short in front of a door not too far from her own.

As far as she's concerned, it's her house. So the door, even though it contains no connection to her, is under her rule by technical standards. She can do whatever she wants with it.

And she decides to open it like a like a belligerent rough-house. The absolute worst way to go about dealing with such an obstacle.

Needless to say, the occupant on the other side is anything but cheery. To add insult to injury, Tomoko ruins it all by dropping another big bombshell.

"Take your shorts off, we're going to do it hard."

He stares at his homework, now ruined by a stray mark because of his sister's sudden and unwanted entrance. Her obstreperous interruption was more annoying than her usual shit, and unlike the usual regimen, he has no patience for it today.

Fortunately, she hasn't done anything to stir the egg on his desk off-balance. He would have really blown his top off otherwise._  
_

In similar vein to previous near-identical situations like this, Tomoki responds to her forbidden taboo the only proper way he knows how.

"**Fuck. Off.**"

A long gash of pure granite on his homework is bad, but it's no where near the amount of displeasure he's accumulating just by looking at her face. It's not that he hates her, really he just finds her overall pathetic, an embarrassment to the Kuroki name and an even bigger one to mankind.

She keeps that smug smile on her face, it reminds him of the one she had when she joshed his drink with ice.

"Oh great! You're not ignoring me this time, we're off to a good start then."

With her so-called 'compliment confidence' under her belt, she takes further steps into the room. Tomoki gets up out of his chair, and readies himself for orderly sibling detaining if needed.

"I'm serious this time, I want to know what a guy's tongue tastes like. It can be our little secret." with eyes that spell nothing but impending annihilation, Tomoko steps even closer.

With each step the older girl takes, the younger boy takes one back.

It's just not happening. It's not a thing. It isn't a thing. It won't be a thing. There will never be an alternate existing reality in which it is a thing. Nor will it ever _be _a thing. Ever.

Or at least, that's what he's convinced himself up to this point. All this shit he's spouted out as a young bubbling toddlers holds zero clarity in his mindset now.

"Do you even listen to half the shit you say?"

"Kind of. Only when it's important. It is now, so come on"

Her current tone of voice is deep, husky with an underlying hint of salacious lust and desire. There are no stutters, no pauses, no breaks for anything. She's still sweaty and oily as possible, but it's not from embarrassment.

He isn't too sure if she's forcing that kind of stuff or not.

He hopes so.

"Listen to this then: "**_Get out._**"

It falls over deaf ears.

Rather than listen to him and take the memo by leaving him alone, she instead rubs his chest with her bony finger, hoping that it'll have some effect on him and magically make him stop, drop, and follow his sister's orders.

It doesn't because magic is fake and is a stupid concept.

He repeats himself, supposedly for the final time, "**_Get. Out._**"

"But don't you want to try it?-"

"**_No._**"

She raises her volume, "But I-I need to know what boy-tongue tastes like!-"

"Too bad. Fuck off." he keeps his stable, and his decision firm.

"D-Don't you want to kn-know if**_ s-e-x_ **is sp-spontaneous or not?! I can lock us both in the closet right now!"

"Why do I bother repeating myself to you?"

"_Oh._ I-I see how it is! Y-Yeah, you want to save yourself for all th-those sl-sluts, bu-but when it comes to your big sister needing a favor, you suddenly refuse!"

"Do you know how much of a creep you sound like right now?"

"D-Don't call your older sister a creep!"

He sighs, crossing his arms on top of that, "You know. I keep hearing you call yourself the older one, but from the looks of it, all you do is act like a pathetic un-responsible little kid."

It hits her like a blade in the chest. A direct contrast to that little kid labeling her the epitome of beauty not even a half-hour ago. Due to her inability to take criticism, what she does next is out of pure desperation.

"**_Aaagh!_**"

She falls to the ground and hugs his legs, with forced crying to amp up the sympathy meter.

It's here that Tomoko learns that forcing tears out of your own duct is something easier said than done, "Sniff...sniff... H-How could you **_say_** such a **_thing_**!? What **_provoked_** you!? Is someone **_bullying you_** at school?! Why do you **_hurt_** the ones you **_love_**!?"

He's not moved, nor impressed.

"What the hell? Get off of me!"

He wags his foot around like a dog wags his tail, but to no avail, she's clamped on tight and has no intention of letting go of him. It serves as a poignant reminder that for every time she does something remarkable, she counters it with five more instances of humiliating herself in the most annoying ways possible.

"N-No, let me cry, l-let me cry here!"

Like now, for instance.

"Piss off, you're not even crying, you're just faking it."

"Please, I-I'm not a little kid, I'm r-responsible! I can be responsible and not pathetic if I tried!"

"You're starting to give me a headache."

He starts dragging his leg around the room, in a second attempt to rid her off of him, but again his efforts go unrewarded. She's like a bloodsucking parasite, like the human embodiment of the fungus that zombifies ants and other small bugs.

"I-I can _**prove**_ it!"

That's a word that strikes a chord within him.

'_Prove..._'

"How sure are you about that?" he asks. The question causes her to stop faking her bawling, and question her own reliability.

Despite all past traces of her experiences all pointing into the 'no' direction, she nods her head anyways. Anything to get the monkey off of her ass and conclude whether or not sex is impulsive, and not some rushed delusion of amateur artists that don't know how to properly write a story. It's in the name of Slutology.

There's also tongue, but that's much more of a personal 'triumph' goal than anything.

It is at this point that Tomoki manages to get her off of him. Which to him is a triumph all in its own. Convinced that he now has a viable tactic to keep her busy and out of his hair over the next few days, he strolls over to his desk.

The egg is still there, safe and sound without a scratch on it.

"Do you know what this is?" he asks, dangling the ovoid in her face as if she were retarded. Which under his own judgment, is a fact.

With the 'waterworks' put to a rest, she gets all comfy on his floor like she always does, "It's an egg, obviously."

"Great. I'm supposed to take care of this until next week as part of an assignment. But, since you feel like you're better than me, I'll let you do it. Don't bother replacing it if you break it either, it's marked."

Immediately, her lazy and unmotivated demeanor takes over, "What?! Why me, what does this have to do with anything?!"

"You said you're responsible, so show it. Stop being a little kid."

She wants to argue more with him about how unfair and out-of-nowhere the proposition is, she really does. But for whatever reason, she surrenders and accepts the white oviform from him.

"Wait. What do I get in return?" she asks, eyes narrowed at him.

Although Tomoki plans in no way to hold up his side of the unfair exchange out of genuine disgust, he buys her over with the proposed 'answer' to her burning questions, provided she can fulfill her side of the deal.

Once everything settles in, the situation returns to what it was minutes before. Except now he decides to screw over his lack of energy.

"Alright. Now get out."

* * *

The door slams in her face, and the mojyo is left with the egg. A seemingly simple task that'll prove whether or not she has the ability to take care of something without having it expire by her touch alone.

'_I guess this can't be any harder than raising a kid..._'

It really isn't, unless someone stupid takes it out of proportion and tries to make it more difficult than it should be.

She pleads the fifth to that on so many levels. But as she holds the egg in her feeble hands, she notes how it's the only obstacle blocking her from reading her lewd online comics in peace.

And if she has to look after a fucking yolk-filled shell in order to get some dedicated sex answers, then so be it.

She heads back to her room, and on the way over, almost drops the egg on two separate occasions.

* * *

**Thus introduces an experiment I'm trying out, story arcs. Expect the next few chapters to play out much like any other, with the exception of certain scenes dealing with this somewhat symbolic egg. We'll see a conclusion to this particular 'arc' in the near future. Until then, I hope you review and continue to read. Thank you.**


	10. Lament 10: I'll Get My Hands Dirty

**Before you make the lewd assumption that today's title is a euphemism hinting towards some evidently naughty _junk in the trunk, _I'd advise you not to get your hopes up. No one is touching this girl. Ever. Unless it's pity sex, and even then, she'll be terrible at it. Or maybe she'd actually be pretty good, depending on how much hentai she reads and if she learns from those awkwardly drawn panels, but uh, this is irrelevant. Moving on.**

**Toon-Girl-Abby: Thanks for those kind words, and welcome back. And yes, I am aware of those series, though I've never been one for unnecessary crossovers. Not my style, for whatever reason.**

**Jalen of the Silence: Thanks, I'll try to keep things good. As for Tomoki, I'm sure he likely wants to forget he ****_ever _****had said any of those things, now it's biting him, badly.**

**You may be wondering, in what possible way, how you can assist me in keeping this story in tip-top shape, while also making sure I keep it frequently updated. Not to mention also keeping it from falling into the abyss of stories with cringe-worthy author's notes where the author 'talks' to the characters like they're doing some petty interview. (No, but honestly, that's a genuine writer's pet peeve of mine. Ladies, please refrain from doing this.) How, you wonder? Review, simply review. Tell me what you like, what you thought was good, groovy, tubular, gravy, and all that good stuff. As well as what I need to focus on, and overall, satisfy you, the reader. Because you're entitled to a story that's good since you cared enough to raise my traffic views by clicking on it, so I'm obligated to deliver, and that's just what I intend to do. Thank you for you courtesy.**

**A quick reminder, the official English version of the manga comes out October 29th, with a special message from the mangaka. You should show your support and pre-order, it's only seven dollars, after all.**

**Word Count: 6719 words.**

* * *

Lament .10: Because I'm Not Popular, I'll Get My Hands Dirty

* * *

"_Tomorrow, right Mokocchi?_"

"Y-Yeah, unless uh, y-you know, you're busy, o-or something!"_  
_

_"No, I'm actually for free tomorrow, of course I'll come!_"

"G-Great, great! I'll, uh, see you then!"

"_Alright, good night, Mokocchi!_"

The call ends, and Tomoko Kuroki haphazardly tosses her phone on her bed, and then tosses herself on it. Another night finds itself kicking off with a multitude of hours consisting of the mojyo doing absolutely nothing, for the sake of doing absolutely nothing.

It's quite a harbinger for her already declining future, which she's already evaluated that, should she keep on doing what she's doing, then in ten or so years she won't even be good enough to maintain a lowly secretary job in a stuffy office.

'_It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It seriously **doesn't **even matter!_'

She keeps telling herself that, but the more time passes by, the more she realizes that eventually, it _will _matter. When that time comes, then and only then will she finally get the idea that the time she could have used planning her future, was all discarded in exchange for maximum computer use.

She can change, _probably. _The chances are extremely low and the probability of it actually happening is quite down the drain, but it's a feasible goal, she merely needs to show that in addition to being a pathetic nuisance, she's a _responsible _and _well-respected _pathetic nuisance.

The start of this, as well as the beginning of her doujin debunk journey, all begin with the egg situated on her pillow.

'_I haven't really done much since he gave it to me... Does that make me a bad parent? What the hell does he expect me to do with this?_'

It can't be some practical joke, his tone was genuine. He couldn't have possibly wanted her to pleasure herself with it, it wasn't long enough for that, and frankly, she doesn't need _anything _for that kind of depressing self-pleasing anyhow.

She turns around and lies on her back, deciding that she'll figure it out in the morning

Her eyes roam over the ceiling, and then to the egg.

'_Lucky you, you don't have to put up with the kind of crap I have to deal with. You get to sit inside a shell and wait to either die or become a chick- Actually wait, that **does **sound like me..._'

Looking around her room, she notices that while it doesn't bear any similarities to an egg-shell, she _does _spend most of her days inside of the four-walled prison. And during that time, her popularity scale fluctuates rapidly between becoming a _'chick', _and dying a cold horrible death due to a lack of warmth.

'_Oh god... This is starting to make sense all of a sudden, I'm... **I'm **an egg! Everyone else at school has hatched, and I'm like one of those hatch-lings that only has their legs out but not their head!_'

It's quite a somber-ridden discovery.

Tomoko takes the egg gently into her hands, staring at it intently.

'_Please don't take anything after me, it'll only bring you unhappiness._'

Of course, it doesn't respond for obvious reasons, but it's not like she doesn't know that.

She flicks the egg, and it wobbles somewhat, not too strong a flick, but enough to make it teeter a bit. Whatever was inside was either incubating or dead.

She is ninety-nine point nine percent sure it's the latter.

"Do you know why I'm unpopular?"

Again, it doesn't say a word because its purpose now is to store yolky goop and no longer to live as a being, but if there was ever a point when it _was _alive, it most likely wouldn't want to talk to someone as objectively disgusting as Tomoko anyway.

'_Oh god, look at me, I'm talking to the egg, is this what my life's reduced to now?_'

It's certainly reduced enough to the extent where she has to deny herself the most rhetorical queries just to get herself through the day. Or night, to be precise.

Before her fears of growing up with nothing but felines in her company swells to near unbearable levels, Tomoko places the egg back on her pillow. So far, so good. It hasn't broken yet, which is fantastic.

Dying is bad for business, everyone in the world knows that.

'_At least this proves my touch isn't deadly..._'

She rears her big ugly head and her big ugly bug eyes to her computer, its bright light on the highest setting possible, acting as the only source of luminosity in her otherwise dark, gloom room.

"I guess I should go check on my downloads, maybe go to sleep after getting more show torrents, I keep procrastinating on doing that..."

She walks over and sits down on her chair, and immediately types in the names of the current-airing shows of which she wants to download, and in doing so, intentionally taunting the crew behind it that desperately need the financial support of desolate otakus like her.

'_Maybe I'll get a BD once I get a job. Maybe._'

Yet as she continues to search for her shows, a sudden feeling overcomes her.

'_Crap. I have to pee._'

* * *

She doesn't end up downloading anything that night.

She also doesn't piss.

The morning afterward continues her ungodly trend of waking up in front of the computer, drool all over the desk, having never even touched her covers.

'_Crap, I really have to learn to stop doing that..._'

She gets up out of her chair, stretching with a croak of a yawn, then looks over to the clock on her computer.

'_It's a weekend, isn't it?_'

She highlights her cursor over the date on the bottom-right corner, and by jove, she's right.

'_Great__._'

School, at least to her, is pretty shitty anyways. Ever since they removed her secret relaxation station of desks atop that one staircase, where she could freely watch anime on her phone, shoeless legs crossed over the desk, nothing's ever been the same. Or, to be technical, everything's simply reverted back to where it was _before_ she discovered the desks.

'_Well... None of that matters now anyway! My perfect, ideal weekend, starts now!_'

An ideal weekend for an otherwise un-ideal girl, it sounds like a good idea in concept. But not too good when it comes to light that the person trying to be normal by doing normal things is none other than an abnormal person like herself.

And times like that only ever end in one way, something about life isn't correctly comprehended by her, she takes things a little too far in her own deluded interpretation of things, and ends up a public humiliation.

It's practically a trope by now, if it wasn't one already.

Either way, there isn't possibly anything that could stop the mojyo this time, she's already convinced herself that for once, things _might _just work out for the better, and that's simply because everything else about yesterday wasn't as bad as it usually is.

'_Finally, after all this time, after all these delays and stupid excuses, I finally get to go to the movies with Yuu-chan!_'

It's sort-of an inside joke between the both of them, except it's one that only Tomoko herself is aware of, and on top of that, it's a kind of agonizing inside joke too.

Every time, every fucking time, she sets up a movie outing with her slut of a best friend, she has the gall to 'double-cross' her and cancel their 'dates' in order to hang out with other friends, other friends who only care about looks, not the nerdy otaku she is on the inside, other friends who are mindless and don't give two shits about her well-being, unlike Tomoko.

Granted, she cares for _both _the otaku inside, and the slut on the outside, but nobody can blame her, everyone wants to pinch those giantess breasts, it's no surprise her horny fingers want to get in on that apple pie too.

'_Apple pie. With cinnamon. That's what she tastes like._' she declares within the crevices of her mind.

It's a shame she'll never be able to confirm that within her lifespan. At her best, she'll marry a sickly twigboy who falls for her hard due to interpreting her appearance as some form of unnatural beauty, a guy that'll treat her nice because he can't treat himself at all, but isn't strong enough to defend her from other jerks or even be _that _good in bed.

At her worst she'll be a sex slave to a Japanese hustler with a high libido to pleasure every night.

'_I'm finally going to get closer to tasting that pie, or maybe hold her supple, boingy breasts! M-Maybe I'll get another hug like at the cultural fair? M-Maybe I can at least sling an arm around her during the movie! The possibilities are endless, who knows what we'll do in the theater, no one! It's too dark for anyone to see anything, I can get with it all and Yuu-chan's slut mind will be too stupid to think anything of it!_'

She slaps her hands on her cheeks, lashes her tongue out like a sweating dog, and titters at a disturbingly off-putting rate.

'_Oh no, my best friend wouldn't molest me! It was **obviously** one of the perverts sitting around us!_'

What used to be mere giggles suddenly jump in tier to loud guffaws as she pulls her hair, ridden with an prodding form of anxiousness, "It's finally going to happen! I'm going to touch someone, I'm going to touch someone and nothing can possibly go wrong!"

Again. An ideal weekend for an otherwise un-ideal girl. A girl who smells horribly, has the hygiene of a kid whose diet consists of sugar-laced candy and soda, has hair so unwashed that the grease has created a bizarre compound that sticks her hair strands together like glue, who's basically insane whenever in the right state of mind, but otherwise laughably pathetic in any normal situation.

It is that oily disgrace to society, that is going to the movies today, with her best slut friend in hand. In order to watch some boring movie that only Yuu will care enough to talk about the day after.

An outing that only popular kids participate in.

An outing that will surely raise Tomoko's lowly normalcy rating if she goes through with it.

'_I hope she smells good today, like freshly-picked ripe peaches! Oh, who am I kidding? She's gonna smell good no matter what! I've totally hit the jackpot this time!_'

* * *

The girl forgoes her breakfast in lieu of a much lighter (yet unhealthier) serving of internet surfing.

'_I've done all the research I can on the movie we're going to watch. It's about an anime that she and I have been watching all throughout this season, I've watched every trailer, seen every sneak peek, seethed through every interview, read through every official review from only the top critics in the film industry! And I even read a few spoilers on every single imageboard I could find!'_

She can't help but hold a smug smile of superiority as she reads one last review, which gives the film a well-deserving three-and-a-half stars out of a potential four.

_'Now I've been spoiled so much about the movie's plot, details, characters, and scenes, that I know **everything **about it! I know exactly which scenes will be good enough to hug Yuu-chan, all the scary ones! The ones that look like the main characters are about to die, she'll ask for comfort, **and **I'll get to be that comfort!_'

Retreating to her bed, she snatches her odd-looking plush purple thing and gives it a harsh squeeze of mojyo-affection. Then, her eyes wander off to the egg, still in the same position as it was last night.

'_Good, it didn't fall off overnight. I'm safe for another day. I wonder how much longer I can keep it up, though..._'

Getting a rather sane-less idea, she plops the purple plush down next to the egg, and turns him around so that it's facing the ovoid with its big punching bag-like face.

The egg, of course, has no reaction whatsoever.

She points to the plush, tone emitting somewhat stern vibes, "You. Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

With a sitter appointed, the wretch exits her domain and heads downstairs. A nice shit in the toilet, some good slutty clothes, a little bit more research, and she'll be all ready for the movies.

Fortunately, her way down the steps of the hell doesn't result in an encounter with her shithead of a brother. She's delighted to find that he's in his room, wasting his weekend away on a stack of homework

'_What a loser..._'

The feeling is mutual, for the most part.

Once at the base of the staircase, she comes into contact with her mother. She isn't behind the stove cracking eggs unrelated to the one under her watchful hawk eyes, she isn't cooking anything.

In fact, all she has in her hand is a spray bottle and a rag with some scum on it.

Her mom clicks her tongue, a look of frustration with a desperate need of ventilation on her face, "Tomoko, it's about time you're awake! I've been calling you downstairs to eat for the longest but you never showed up!"

"S-Sorry! I-I was just, u-uh, busy! Yeah, b-busy! I still am, actually, I'm going to be busy all day!"

In her defense, it is _kind of _important, it's just that she's taking it a bit too far for a simple movie. Regardless, Tomoko is dead-set on having nobody ruin her plans like they always do, mothers included.

She sighs, "Right. Well listen up then, today I want you to-"

"S-Sorry, no time!"

Before her mom can yell at her more for not paying better attention to her (if any attention at all), Tomoko does only what she does best in a situation like this.

She ascends back up the stairs as fast possible, ears blocking out whatever shouting she's about to receive for disobeying the matriach of the home.

* * *

Once back in the safety of her room, she pants harshly, catching her breath. She hasn't run so fast since that marathon she ran as a kid, which was admittedly years before she started on a grand slippery slope decline to a loser's domain.

'_Dammit! How the hell am I supposed to do bathroom business with her down there snooping around? I can't just go back down, she's already pissed at me. What the hell do I do?'_

Her sickly, smoldering eyes find their way to the window. It's open, a gentle breeze flowing inside, giving her a view of the street and the businessmen in their business cars on their way to hectic business meetings in their hectic business offices.

Typical morning business, really.

'_I could always piss outside the window..._'

It's a disgusting idea though, and if she were to be spotted by someone, god forbid someone she knows, she knows for a fact that she'll never able to live it down.

Despite the old saying, drastic times do not always call for drastic matters.

'_Not worth it._' she ultimately declares.

So instead of searching for a pitiful way to the bathroom, she goes for the alternative: Removing everything else from her to-do list until her mother cools off, and she can take her much-needed bladder drainage.

Too much information, too much.

She walks over to her closet.

"I guess I could focus on picking some slutty clothes to wear. I'll have to choose stuff that Yuu-chan would wear, if I think like her, I'll have better chances of becoming her!"

She opens her closet, and finds an array of clothes that evidently don't look like _anything _a slut would want to wear. The only exceptions to the rule being the clothes she wore during the whole Kii-chan debacle.

Although they're still a perfect fit and would clearly be something a sperm dumpster would wear, the mojyo decides against it.

'_I don't want to be reminded of that._'

Next is the fake costume she purchased in order to convince Yuu into thinking that she had a shift during the cultural fair. It certainly looked trashy enough, if anything.

"I have a feeling this'll catch too much attention. If that happens, I'll never be able to get peace in theater. I won't be able to hug Yuu-chan if their eyes are all on us."

Again, she gives herself too much credit for such a skimpy little costume that doesn't even look marginally decent on her. While it is true that they won't be able to keep their eyes away from her, it would be because the get-up comes with a pair of distracting horns that already look stupid enough to wear in public, outside of cosplaying.

It too, is ditched.

But with those two outfits out of the picture, nothing much remains other than her casual house clothes and countless identical school uniforms. A majority of which she hasn't even worn before, as she simply re-uses the same one throughout the whole week like a dirty little mud-wallower.

"Damn, I could have sworn I had more stuff than this."

Unfortunately, it seems as if she may have over-estimated the amount of choices in her wardrobe. At the end of the line, too embarrassed to wear one outfit, and too modest to wear the other, she ultimately settles upon the outfit she wore when she reunited with Yuu at that hipster-infected cafe.

Beret included.

A quick change has her going from wearing shorts that sway carelessly in the breeze to wearing jeans that strangle her dick-less crotch like a leeching facehugger.

"Well, that's one thing over with, I'm practically one-third of the way to fresh hugs that smell like peaches!" elated by the thought of smelling Yuu-chan's slut scent again, Tomoko faces her purple plush and her egg.

"Do you think this looks slutty enough?"

Neither questioned candidate propose an answer.

"G-Great, so do I!"

She proceeds to look at herself in the mirror, and in it she sees some attempt at beauty, and smiles at the reflection. In reality, the glass carries nothing more than a frail girl surrounded by a dense melancholia, and her efforts to hopelessly escape from that fate.

Not like she needs to know that, though.

Just as she gets into admiring herself, she hears a caw from downstairs.

"**_Tomoko!_**"

'_Crap. Not again! Worse yet, she sounds more pissed than before. I can't avoid her again, she'll just get on my ass. Ugh. I guess I'll have to go confront her, if I'm not on good terms with her, she might not let me leave the house!_'

Despite the fact that Tomoko and her mother mix as well as oil and water, she deals with it and heads back downstairs. The day is really starting to become something of a back-and-forth thing.

* * *

Of all the possible ways to make the one day Tomoko wants to be perfect come crashing horribly crashing down, life decides to take the high road and toss busy work on her on top of that.

She doesn't like busy work, or even regular work for that matter. In fact one might even go as far to say that it's one of the many things she detests as well as dreading the thought of ever having to do it. Just as bad as she loathes becoming a housewife for some slob who can't pick up after himself.

It's not even the difficulty of the work that gets to her, it's more that it's tedious, and tedious stuff just happens to be in the bottom of the barrel of boring shit to do. In her eyes, it's kind of a 'principle of the thing' situation.

Thus, it can be inferred that the mojyo would want to avoid repetitive work of that manner at all costs, just for her own sake. And if one were to point this out, they wouldn't be in the wrong.

So when her mother hands her a dusty, dirt-ridden rag that's seen better days, it's quite justifiable why she tosses a bitch fit about it no more than two milliseconds afterwards.

"Wh-What's this?" Tomoko questions, almost beckoning for a scolding.

She doesn't directly answer her, "All you've been doing all day is lounging around like dead weight, I'm tired of it! You're going to clean for the rest of the day, whether you like it or not!"

'_Oh god, oh god, someone please strangle me with this dirty rag. Even death is better than this!_'

"Agh, n-no, no, no, n-no! I can't!-" she starts out, attempting to defend herself in order to preserve her 'perfect' day.

She's interrupted almost instantly, "Why? You're not actually going to go out today, are you?"

"I-I am actually! M-My f-friend's waiting for me! I have to get ready to go meet her!" she clenches her fists, and tries to convey an expression of seriousness to her mother, but she isn't intimidated at all.

She shrugs in regards to her daughter's 'concerns', "Then I guess you'll just have to call her and cancel."

"Wh-What? I can't do that, we've been planning this for ages, a-and **_every single time_** she has to cancel because of something stupid, I-I can't be the one to cancel this time, sh-she finally has an open schedule, an open scehdule f-for me!"

She falls to her knees in an effort to convince the woman to re-think her decisions, a twitchy smile on her face and the nervous eyes to match.

All the lady sees in her eyes is her daughter acting like a constipated little nimrod trying to score on the sympathy meter. Admittedly though, it does work to some extent. She's not dumb, she knows Tomoko isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. It's as clear as can be.

Maybe she doesn't know enough to realize that she's also a raging lunatic who fantasizes having sex with two-dimensional characters with the two-dimensional personalities to match, but she knows the minimum to grasp that an outing is something she _really, really _needs.

But that isn't to say she's going to get out scott-free. That's not how things work in her eyes.

Tomoko's mother lets out a sigh and places a hand on her daughter's oily head, prompting the latter to look up with those lost puppy eyes of hers.

"You really want to go, don't you?"

The young beldame looks up with watery eyes, having planned on crying should all else fail to work. She gives her mom a nod, _anything _for a whiff of that succulent, tender, moist peach hair.

"Fine. You can go.-"

Tomoko is quick to counter, her eyes suddenly devoid of tears and as parched as any generic desert. They're instead filled with maladjusted skepticism, "What? Really!? You're serious!?"

"Yes, you can go."

Still wary, she fires back in search for more assurance, "Y-You're not just lying to me, right?"

The woman pinches her nose, beginning to get that familiar aggravation with her daughter once again, "Yes, yes!" she repeats.

Although sparks and fireworks are going off inside of her stomach for succeeding in dodging a bullet, Tomoko doesn't feel like conveying that sort of happiness out loud, so she plays it cool.

In the middle of what would have been a jump of joy, she instead looks away and crosses her arms, "C-Cool... I-It's not like I wanted to go _that _badly or anything!"

'_I'm a terrible liar.'_

It's at that point that a stark realization hits the mojyo's dense, castigating head. Perhaps life isn't as macabre as her perception lures her to believe, perhaps there are indeed spasmodic instances in life where unmitigated hags get to have their day in the limelight, if not for a few seconds.

It's an eternal struggle against life, one that she has to endure day after day, dealing with people's shit and talking shit about others out of natural behavior. It's a strenuous life that requires way too much energy exertion on her part, and at the end of the day, there's still debate whether or not any of it was worth it.

But just now, what with that entire conversation, she starts to believe that she may have found an answer, like a diamond in the rough. And that very diamond shines with the kind of glister that lets her know that there are indeed, times when fate decides to throw the bitch a bone.

Thus, as she makes her way back upstairs, she insists that this instance is one of those times, and that the bullet can't be any closer to hitting her.

"**_If!_**"

The girl stops in her tracks.

'_Shit. I knew there was a catch._'

She's half-right, half-wrong.

It's an extremely juxtaposing conclusion, but sadly one that she has to deal with in order to get to the intoxicating scent of her best friend.

All this, just to get a sniff of the good stuff and a hug, maybe a boob squeeze if she's lucky.

Tomoko turns around, hopes decimated in an instant. She now fears for nothing but the worst to get to her goal, visualizing the situation as having turned from graceful miracle to signing a pact with the devil.

Except in this case the devil is a Lucy and not a Lucifer, and not a devil but a succubi. A succubi who's also the parent of a delusional unsullied maiden and the normal boy who tries his best to stray away from dealing with her.

"If you clean up the bathroom, I'll let you go, is that clear?"

It's at this point that the girl turns around, an extremely wide and shaky grin on her unbelievably dumb face. Her pupils are as big as soup bowls, staring her mother down as if she's lost her damn mind.

She hasn't, but if anyone has, it's definitely Tomoko.

Her mom makes way to leave the room before she starts to lose all care for her own daughter, "You heard me, I don't need to repeat myself. Just clean that _one _room, and you can leave, that's _all _I'm asking of you. All you do everyday is lounge around, sleep, and eat once in a while. I'm tired of it, I do all this housework daily and never get time off from it, you're going to have to do your part! Tomoki does, so why can't you?"

'_Don't compare him to me! He's a bad example at everything!_

With that, her mom leaves the living room, leaving Tomoko alone to lament her woes and curse the existence of her brother and everything he lives for.

'_Damn her! And damn him, too! He does so much shit on his own, he helps her out whenever he can just because he feels like it. He sets up too big of an example that she expects from me too, her expectations are too igh, she's expecting too much from me! Why can't I just get a break? I thought I was finally getting one for once..._'

She sighs, and stares at the rag she's been given. Its grit, its grime, the soiled dark stains of the hard-working toil of a housewife. It also hasn't been washed in eons.

'_I don't want to do this._'

* * *

"Damn, now I _really _don't want to do this!"

As her pitiful, mostly blank, non-existent luck would have it, the bathroom has seen way better days. There's grime on the wall, dirt on the floor, rings of accumulating filth around the tub, dirty towels and discarded laundry all over the place, and an entirely un-describable condition to the toilet.

And that's not even scraping the surface of the ordeal.

Briefly forgetting the fact that it's been smeared in year's worth of household gunge and smut, Tomoko wipes her sweaty forehead with the mucky rag, it's a daunting task for sure.

"She has to be crazy, she just has to, o-or mean! Maybe she gets a sick thrill out of it, who knows? Why else would she choose the hardest place in the whole house to make me scrub from the down up!?"

Let the worst place in the house get scoured clean by the worst girl in the house. It admittedly sounds like a better idea on paper than it does in action.

"Forget it, I can't do this! The woman's crazy! This is on the fence- no no, it's **_over _**the line. I might as well forget about the movies right now, forget about the crappy one hour and twenty minute snore-fest I'll probably yawn all the way through, forget about Yuu-chan, forget about Yuu-chan's peach-smelling hair, I give u-!"

_Buzz._

As she readies herself to surrender to the plague of a demonic chore, a vibration disturbs her pockets.

_Buzz_, _buzz, buzz._

She drops the rag the second the tingles make contact with her body, "E-Eh!? What the hell is- **_Oh... _**It's just my phone." she still hasn't gotten used to receiving calls, it's such a foreign concept to her, it's almost kind of scary.

She retrieves her phone and almost fumbles with it so bad she almost drops it, but maintains a grip on it before that can happen.

"H-Hello!?" she answers.

"_Mokocchi? Are you there?_"

"Y-Yes, hello, hi, h-hey, h-how are you?"

In order to give her a bit of privacy, she kicks the bathroom door shut, then returns to the conversation, "_Oh okay, I was just making sure. I'm heading out in twenty minutes or so. When are you going?_"

"E-Eh? M-Me? Uh, I-I'll probably head out n-not too long after you leave! Make sure to wait for me, a-and I'll try not to be late! I-I mean I'd hate for us to miss the whole movie because of m-me and-"

"_Oh, okay! Don't worry Mokocchi, I'll make sure to wait! I can understand how long it takes for you to prep yourself to look good and all that, I have the same problems myself! Anyways I have to go get ready. I'll see you when you get there, bye!_"

The mojyo mouths a forced, hasty goodbye, and disconnects the call for time's sake. Pocketing it, she leans on the door, stares at the bathroom ceiling, and does nothing as she slowly slides down to the floor.

'_Shit, shit, shit! I can't afford to fool around anymore, she's gonna be there soon, if I don't finish this crap fast I won't be able to touch her! Life shouldn't have to be this cruel!_'

But what it all boils down to is, life is barbarously grievous. She keeps that in mind as a mental note, and deems it the moral of her day.

She bends down and picks up the rag at the pace of a slug.

'_...I might as well get started then.'_

* * *

Ten minutes of those twenty pass by with some progression, advancement spun from motivation of wanting to get an ass squeeze out of a couple of two second embraces. Tomoko scrubs, rubs, and wipes as hard as her feeble body will let her.

'_Hah...hah...hah, come on, come on, come on! This is for peaches, p-peaches!_'

The power of libidinously-powered incentive can only go so far, however. The amount of scouring she does in such a short timespan doesn't correspond for a substantial amount of polishing.

'_Crap, I haven't even started on the tub yet. All I've been doing is working the filth out of the floors and walls, that's not enough to reach her stupidly high expectations! Damn her, she's really pushing me to do this! Who the hell does she think I am? A maid to some ojou? She's more like a hag bitch than an ojou!_'

'_Just imagining a situation like that, disgusting! I can't even look at myself like that, I'd actually **never **look at myself again if I had to stoop that low!'_

Her vividly meticulous imagination begins to overcome her, replacing her contemplating mind with terror-strickening thoughts of her mother and her in a most unruly dynamic.

'_Tomoko, would you come here for a minute please?_'

'_Y-Yes, m'aam?_'

'_Eh? Why aren't you walking correctly? Did you already forget the special treatment I gave you?_'

'_W-Well, i-it's k-kind of embarrassing, m-miss. I-I'm the only one th-that has t-to do it-_'

'_That's not an excuse. Get on all fours this instant or face the consequences.'_

_'O-Okay, okay, I'm going, I'm going!'_

_'Do the bark as well.__'_

_'Th-The bark? But that's the most embarrassing part about it, miss!-'_

_'No buts, you were well aware of the circumstances the moment you decided to work under me. Bark.'_

_'W-Woof, w-woof... w-woof.'_

_'That's too quiet, and much too pitiful. Louder please.'_

She cringes from the aberrant vision, shivers circulating through her body, '_Ugh, just thinking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach, I may end up sinking to a bunch of lows but becoming a servant isn't one of them!...unless it's the other way around, but people probably won't start treating me like that until I become popular...'_

In her case, that could either take forever, or just not happen at all.

Either way her fate turns out, it's irrelevant. The fact remains that the girl has less than ten minutes to get up off of her flat ass and make that grubby, unsanitary lavatory shine like it's never shone before.

And by now it's far more than personal, a truth made evident by her slut clothes becoming gradually smeared in grime, and her bladder having yet to be drained.

For the most part, it's a shoddily done job, at least by her mom's steep standpoint. For everyone else, it's apparent her work was to the very best of her limited abiltiies, so, _averaging-in-mediocrity_ would be the defining highlight of her result.

'_It's the minimum, but I don't care, that's good enough for me! As long as I make her satisfied, I'll be in the bag and she'll finally let me leave this dump!' _breathing harshly, she drops the rag again and falls to the floor, sitting in the middle of the bathroom in an effort to regain her stamina.

'_Crap, my face is sweaty, my hair is shit and tangled up, and I've been working so much that I've gotten that musty stink that boys get whenever they do lifting or jack off. I'm a mess, well, I'm **always **a mess, but this time it's even worse. I feel like she may have done this on purpose to make me look bad, is that how she gets her kinks? Degrading her own daughter to unforgivable levels- **Oh crap!**_'

Right in the kernel of her voiciferous inner rant comes her decision to check her phone out of the curiositiy that her harlot of a friend may have messaged her during her cleaning turmoil.

It's because of this that the realization hits her that she has two or so minutes to vamoose at the speed of light in order to get to that completely-spoiled movie in time.

Saving energy would have to wait for another time.

She skedaddles, her heart pounding the most it's probably ever pounded in its fifteen-year old lifespan. There's no time to waste, no time to fix herself to acceptable levels, no time to bitch about anything, and there's no time to continue talking about wasting time.

There is only time for slut hugs.

And even the time for that is beginning to dwindle.

Refusing to dawdle any longer, she quickens her haste, but only makes it to the door before she's discovered in plain sight.

"**_Tomoko!_** Where are you going?"

'_Oh yeah, I forgot. I still have to deal with her, her and her nagging._'

The cadaverous girl turns around, an incessant need to leave brewing within her, "Y-Yes?" she inquiries, her haggard eyes showing vibes of nothing but pure impatience.

Her mother holds a dubious air around her, as if untrusting of her rate of accomplishment. With a hand on her hips and a skeptical scowl, she approaches her daughter, "Did you already forget what you promised me?"

The younger of the kin holds her hands up in frantic, self-defense, yet it does little to cease the elder's hesitant doubts.

"Wh-What? O-Of course not, I-I would never promise something and then just walk out like that! I-I did what you asked, I d-did my part, how about you?!"

A pause is initiated, both women giving each other a stare down. It's completely brazen that the two have come to a conflicting stalemate, neither sure how it'll truly conclude.

Thus, they give each other questioning gawks, as if surveying or even inspecting whether or not the other can be trusted. Again, much like oil and water, it's a glaringly terrible amalgam.

Against all odds, it's surprisingly the mother who subsides first, "All right, fine. I'll believe it when I see it, but you look like you've done enough, just be sure to take a shower later today."

'_What, what, what? She's actually believing in me?! I-I mean that's a good thing since I'm not even lying this time but still, hell yeah! I'm on top now!_'

Both of them experience a fleeting moment of deja vu when Tomoko once again gets the chance to jump out of joy, but of course she doesn't take it. Showboating a weakness is the number one pertinent way to get knocked down a few notches.

"Oh, well uh, th-thanks, I just did what I could." she off-handedly concludes with a cough.

The door closes as Tomoko heads out, leaving her mom in the dust to collect the pieces of their questionable confrontation.

"I'm sure you did." she mumbles.

* * *

"S-Sold out?! That makes no sense!"

She feels like pulling her hair out, it's like a kick in the shin with no joke or punchline, simply leaving the bitter aftertaste of a sudden, unwanted turn of events.

"I know, isn't it awful Mokocchi? Apparently they ran out just as I got there too, I'm so sorry, if I had came earlier I could have gotten us seats!"

'_Dammit, dammit, dammit! I was so close this time too, I should have just ordered our tickets online... either way this is still her fault! She must not want to hug me or something, come on, she hugs everybody else in a ten-mile radius, why not me?!_'

Despite what her mind is desperately enticing her to say, she looks up at Yuu with a deranged, demented gaze that everyone but her can see through.

"I-It's not your fault, r-really!"

'_I shouldn't have to lie to keep this ship stable._'

"Well, we could always watch another movie, is there anything else you had in mind, Mokocchi?"

'_Hell no! I only came for one film, and it's sold out! Now I can't even discuss it on my anime imageboads online! Any other movie we see might not even have any hugging moments, how am I supposed to get tit in my face if I don't even know anything about what I'm watching!? She's pressuring me into a gamble over here!'_

"N-No, what about you?"

"Well, there is this kaiju movie I've been interested in. We can try that one out if you want, Mokocchi!"

The mojyo freezes right then and there.

'_Wait... Is she serious? A giant monster movie? With the giant dinosaurs, apes, moths, and all their stupid fucking spacial counterparts, th-the ones that make no sense and have barely any plot? Hell yeah! This **is **my lucky day after all, those movies have tons of suspense and action, hugging all abound! Thank the freaking skies!_'

She continues stay still in front of her friend, prompting the slut to get concerned about her, "Uh...Mokocchi? A-Are you alrigh-"

Tomoko interrupts her, takes her pure hand into her own unsullied ones, and gives her the most exhilarated face she's ever pulled.

"Let's do it!"


End file.
